


On the Other Side From You

by erioel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Atsumu and Osamu's family, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ghost!Hinata Shouyou, M/M, Magical Realism, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, bokuatsu friendship, murder mystery plays second fiddle to the love story, natsu is a badass, references to The Sixth Sense (1999) bc its one of my favorite movies, star-crossed lovers, technically major character death but hinata was a ghost long before the plot began so, this is...quite sad i'm terribly sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erioel/pseuds/erioel
Summary: Atsumu was pretty sure his new apartment was haunted. Well, technically, it was his new-old apartment, and he'd hedge a bet that its age was the reason it was even being haunted in the first place. It wasn't a big deal, though; his ghost seemed to be of the friendly Casper persuasion rather than the evil, soul-sucking Conjuring type.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 29
Kudos: 157





	On the Other Side From You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintfrania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintfrania/gifts).



> Saw a ghost in my hallway, had a breakdown. Bon appetite! Seriously, though, bonus points to whoever can correctly guess what spooky things happen to Atsumu in this fic that have actually happened to me in my house. 
> 
> Massive, massive love to Fran for being my beta, friend, and cheerleader. I'm still sorry I made you cry! 
> 
> Title is from Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush (the best ghost story/love song ever written).

Atsumu finally accepted the reality of his less-than-alive roommate almost three months after he had moved into his new (old) apartment. Honestly, expecting a complex from the eighties to _not_ have a few ghosts would’ve been dumb, and Atsumu had gotten the heebie-jeebies the moment he had stepped foot into the place, anyways. But the rent was dirt cheap, and the building was close to the gym where his team practiced, and his bedroom had surprisingly large windows facing the rising sun. There was also a modest little balcony that could maybe fit a table and a chair. He had figured that a bit of creepiness was par for the course in a building almost as old as his mother, and an odd experience or two would probably be worth it for the real estate. 

Atsumu and his brother had a healthy respect and fear for the supernatural, instilled in them young by the women of their family. Neither of them had ever discredited the existence of ghosts or spirits and Osamu even swore a kitsune had stolen his bento when they were children. Atsumu just had never thought he would have to deal with one himself.

And yeah, he _really_ had to deal with it now. His kitchen looked like a very particular tornado had blown through it, every cabinet door hanging open when they had all been shut a minute before.

Genuinely stunned, he stood there, gaping. Whatever was possessing his apartment had been making itself known little by little since the week after he’d finished moving in, but this was the first time it decided to do some really freaky, textbook horror movie shit. He was pretty sure the next step was going to be blood dripping from the walls, or words in the steam on the bathroom mirror spelling “GET OUT.”

Atsumu called his mother while he went from cabinet to cabinet, shutting doors; if anyone would know what to do, it was her. Her superstitiousness had been slightly embarrassing in high school but now he was incredibly grateful there was an adult in his life that wouldn’t think he’d lost his marbles when he said, “I think my apartment is really, actually haunted.” 

His mother laughed on the other end. _“Well, duh. I was worried that you hadn’t noticed when you signed the lease on the place.”_ He could hear, faintly, the sounds of pots and pans being moved and the _click-click-click_ of the range. She was probably grilling fish for breakfast before she and his father headed off to work. Atsumu missed her cooking like a limb. _“What’d it do this time?”_

He’d been casually filling her in on the things that had been happening in the apartment since they started. The first event of note had been his favorite jacket vanishing from where it had been hanging, where it always did, on a hook in the genkan, only to reappear laying across the foot of his bed a week later. The second was when he walked into the apartment one afternoon and the smell of a man’s body wash lingered eerily in the air. The windows had been closed, and Atsumu himself used a generic, scentless bar soap; he briefly considered a break-in, but disregarded it when he saw nothing had been taken. (He still installed a better security system than his lock and deadbolt later that week.) 

The third event of note is when things started to get a little bit more...odd. And undeniably ghost-y. 

Usually, Atsumu slept like a rock, always had; he’d sleep through multiple alarms, Osamu shaking him, an earthquake. But one morning at 3 am, he’d woken up out of a dead sleep, sitting up in bed before he was even conscious of doing so. The room was inky black, still too early for the blue of twilight to seep in through the gauzy curtains. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he’d only just been gathering the wits about him to be pissed about being awake when his bedroom door had begun to swing open slowly, creaking on its hinges. 

Well, Atsumu had thought blearily, that’s certainly not supposed to happen. Doors were definitely not supposed to move on their own in an apartment with no discernible draft in the dead of winter when every window was closed. The pure darkness of the hallway outside the now-open door mocked him with its ominousness; he definitely didn’t want to get up and close the door, but leaving it open was so _not_ an option. After steeling his resolve, he had slowly crept to the doorway, aware of how ridiculous it was to creep around the house he lived alone in, yet also aware that he really didn’t feel alone at the moment. He knew he wasn’t as perceptive as his grandmother, or his auntie, or even Osamu, but he did know that if he was to be visited from something beyond the veil, it would be in the wee hours of the morning in an older building. 

He stood in the doorway for a moment, contemplating the relative sanity of what he was about to do next. But it was 3 am, and he had to leave for practice in a few hours, and he was really pissy when he underslept and knew that being pissy around a new team as the rookie was not the best way to endear himself to the other guys. So, with the balls only a twenty-something-year-old man could possess, he shut the door and said to the empty air, “Whoever’s fuckin’ with me right now, knock it off. I’m serious.” With that, he shut the door firmly, walked back to his bed, and passed out on top of the covers. When he woke up three hours later, he had the presence of mind to realize how ridiculous he had probably sounded, and to update his mother on the latest development. 

Similarly odd things had been happening since that morning, all of which his mother had been made aware of. None of it had seemed worth getting worked up over, though, at least until now. This was undeniably _not_ in his head, not the product of a possibly overactive imagination or an incredibly realistic dream. Closing the cutlery drawer, he said to his mother, “Y’know that movie you like? The one with that actor dad says looks like Batman and the creepy little kid?” When she hummed an affirmative, Atsumu said, “Well, whatever’s in here just decided to recreate the kitchen scene with my cabinets.” He was a little annoyed when his mother guffawed on the other end, the sound tinny over his phone’s speakers. 

_“It’s gettin’ bold, huh,”_ she laughed. _“Well, whaddya wanna do ‘bout it?”_ she asked, her voice suddenly turning serious. Even over the phone, he knew her focus had sharpened. He could imagine the look on her face, the shape of her eyes, the line of her mouth. 

Wasn’t that the question, though? He could try to leave the apartment, sure, but he had doubts about the effectiveness of the excuse of “my apartment is haunted” if he tried to break the lease. He probably had only gotten it so cheap because the landlady was perfectly aware of how haunted it was. Besides, the apartment really _was_ nice, despite its age and his, err, roommate. He’d really hate to leave. 

“S’not like it’s violent, just cheeky, I guess. Kinda like havin’ a cat that likes to knock things off high places and play with the toilet paper,” he mused to his mother. “I just wish it would haunt some other asshole’s place.” Like Osamu’s. But Osamu was living in a nicer, newer apartment in Kobe, and Atsumu seriously doubted his place with its high windows and shiny countertops had a ghost. 

His mother sighed on the other end, probably well aware of where his thoughts had gone. _“Well, sweetheart, if you’re okay with it, then just learn to coexist for now. I’ll come up with your aunt and granny this weekend though, and we’ll get a feel for it. And remember, if it starts to get violent, just leave. Come home, or get a hotel. We’ll take care of it,”_ she said, practical and straightforward as always.

“Thanks, ma. I’ve got practice on Saturday, so if you’re gonna come, come Sunday, okay?” He forfeited making breakfast himself and grabbed a protein bar before starting to gather his gym bag together, cell phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. 

_“Alright, dear. Take care of yourself,”_ his mother said before scolding his father in the background for trying to steal a piece of egg before it was done cooking, _“And remember what I said; the moment you need help, call me. And oh, please, call your brother at some point, will you?”_

Atsumu grimaced before half-heartedly promising to do so. He headed off to practice with a cloud over his head that wasn’t just from his 7 am encounter with the supernatural. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


The haunting situation had not improved or worsened since Atsumu’s conversation with his mother, but the ghost _was_ moving things around a lot more blatantly since the kitchen incident. On Wednesday, his toothpaste moved from the open medicine cabinet to the shower ledge in the time it had taken him to look up from spitting out his mouthwash; on Thursday, the coffee maker turned on by itself and brewed a (perfect) carafe of his favorite light roast. 

Saturday morning, it had decided to “misplace” his volleyball shoes minutes before he had to leave for a practice he was already late to. Atsumu hadn’t been very successful at keeping the irritation off his face when he arrived at practice ten minutes late, flustered, with his old spare pair. He’d hoped that no one would comment on it and open up a can of worms he was absolutely _not_ about to discuss with his new teammates, but Bokuto Koutarou had other plans. 

“Woah, Tsum-tsum, who pissed in your coffee this morning?” Bokuto asked at full volume, earning a grimace from Barnes whose eardrums had been within rupturing range. Atsumu tried not to be resentful of the guy for attracting attention towards him in the worst possible way; Bokuto was naturally friendly, and had no filter, and thought all the world was his friend. The idea that his youngest teammate wanted to sulk in peace for a minute or two had never even occurred to him.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Bokkun. My building lost heat this morning so I had to take a cold shower, s’all” Atsumu waved off, schooling his features as Meian and Inunaki watched the exchange. Meian reminded him of Aran with his solid dependability, but in the moment his watchful gaze smacked of Kita in a way that had Atsumu’s hackles rising. 

“Oh, I knew there had to be a catch with that old apartment of yours! You can come to my place if the heat doesn’t get fixed soon,” said Bokuto, finishing up his stretches. Atsumu was suddenly ashamed of his earlier nasty-Bokuto thoughts, even while his chest grew warm with Bokuto’s selfless kindness.

“S’alright. My landlady said it would be fixed by tonight,” he finally replied, head ducked low. He’d never been a great liar and didn’t want to be caught out lying about something so mundane. Atsumu busied himself with making his shitty spare shoes fit semi-comfortably before he and Bokuto paired up together for serve and receive drills. 

As the two youngest players, they’d naturally gravitated towards each other from the time Atsumu had signed onto the Black Jackals. It was easier to bond with a guy who had only graduated a year before him and knew the same players from high school as he did than it was to bond with someone like the Meian or Barnes, who had kids. It’s not like he couldn’t get along with them if he tried (and he really, really tried); it’s just that Bokuto’s easy acceptance made things a little bit less difficult. 

Not that Atsumu would admit that things were difficult. He preferred to call what he was feeling an “adjustment period;” he was just getting used to a new city, to a new team, a new life. It would pass, honest! And if his parents checked in more often nowadays than they had before he quit his college team, well, they were just being overbearing.

He supposed, though, that if he _were_ having a hard time (and that’s a great big hypothetical _if_ because he’s _not_ ), then it would...make sense. He didn’t have hard times, though, so it was a moot point. Why would he care that he’d had to break his contract with his last team because the guys hated him so much they wouldn’t play if he was setting? It’s not Atsumu’s problem their other setter babied the fuck out of them; if they wanted to fail, that was on them. His new contract with the Jackals just proved that he wasn’t the problem. 

Still. As much as he absolutely did not care in the slightest about his last team’s opinions of him, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the way things were with Inarizaki. Maybe it’d been because Osamu had served as a social buffer, or because his old teammates were really just that great, but things had never escalated the way they had in these last few tumultuous months before he transferred teams. 

Now, he didn’t have Osamu at his side, and he couldn’t yet tell what kind of people his new teammates were; he’d have to tread more delicately on these men’s egos lest he finds himself on the hunt for a new team, _again._ And he didn’t think a turnover rate like that would look good for prospective teams, should this stint with the Jackals fall through.

Didn’t mean he’d have to like it though. It was hard to keep his sharp tongue in check whenever Bokuto flubbed a shot off a perfect toss, or when Barnes just wouldn’t jump that extra measly inch that Atsumu knew he could make. Every mistake his teammates made grated on his nerves, already frayed from his early morning encounter with the supernatural. 

Practice dragged on that day, and Atsumu spent it with his focus wavering in and out of the gym and back to the problem of his apartment. All he wanted was to get done, get his chafing shoes off, hit the showers, and go the hell home. 

Of course, when he returned home to _every freaking window open in the middle of November_ , which he had _definitely not done himself,_ he couldn’t stop the frustration simmering under his skin from bubbling over, his vision tinting red. 

“Come the fuck _on,”_ he yelled, slamming the front door shut, rattling the shoe rack next to it. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous!” He stomped from window to window, shutting them so hard the panes shook. His teeth chattering from both anger and the fact that his apartment felt like a damn icebox, he yelled into the frigid air, “Enough! Leave my shit _alone_ and stop fuckin’ with me!” 

He jumped out of his skin when the lights started to flicker rapidly, and a rumbling, ghastly howl seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Atsumu stood there in shock, flinching when the books on his shelves started flying off and the cabinets started spewing their contents. 

“Oh, fuck this noise,” he said to himself, leaving the apartment to its ghostly meltdown as quickly as his legs could carry him, already dialing up his mother.

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

His mother, aunt, and grandmother walked from room to room the next day while he stood in the middle of the trashed living room, too tired to even contemplate the Herculean task of cleaning up the disaster his ghost had left him the day before. He’d taken the train back home to Kobe at his mother’s insistence, and they’d enlisted his aunt Aiko and gran to come to figure out whether his faded old apartment, with its rickety balcony and bedroom windows and apparently very pissed-off spirit, was worth staying in. 

Atsumu watched Aiko stop in the doorway to his bedroom, head cocked, listening to something he knew only she could hear. She’d always been dreamy, and a little strange, but was regarded by his mother’s side of the family as possessing a peculiar attunement to the supernatural world. When he and Osamu had been little, she’d take them to the local Inari shrine, leading them by the hand to each kitsune statue, leaving tofu and rice. She’d hold them in her arms, a boy on each hip, whispering to them in her sweet voice, _listen, Atsumu, Osamu. Can’t you hear it? Listen closer, closer._

Now, she dragged a hand along the doorframe absentmindedly, making pointed eye contact with his grandmother, who had been riveted to a spot in the living room close to the balcony since she’d come in. His mother was exploring the kitchen, cleaning up the mess in there as she went. 

After what seemed like hours of nodding and _hmm_ -ing and Atsumu impatiently following his family from room to room, the four finally convened in the tidied kitchen. 

“Well, m’love, seems you’ve got yourself a ghost,” announced his grandmother at last. She said it like a doctor would say, “It seems you’ve got the flu,” or Kita would say “It seems you’ve forgotten what I said about fighting your brother during practice.” The nonchalance was disconcerting, considering the subject matter. 

Atsumu’s mother just sighed, while his aunt laughed at the look he was sure was on his face. “What gran means, Atsumu, is that yes, this place is definitely haunted. And s’hard to tell if it’s nice or not, but it’s sure angry,” said his mother. “You don’t know a thing about this place’s history; anythin’ could’ve happened in this apartment.” She tapped her manicured fingers against the low table, humming a little in thought. “You should look into who lived here before you. Start with the old man who lives next door, and only ask the landlady as a last resort,” she instructed. Atsumu just nodded along dumbly, trying to process the implication that if the ghost of someone who lived here before him was haunting the place, then…

“It’s upset,” said his aunt, eyes seeing into the middle distance. “Whoever it is, they’re scared, and upset, and confused. You yellin’ last night must’ve set them off. I don’t think they’re violent, just reactin’ like you’re an intruder.” His grandmother nodded along, before adding, “Just be nice for now, Atsumu. And be prepared; they’ll probably show themself to you soon. Don’t show fear.” 

How was he not supposed to show fear to a _ghost,_ he thought incredulously, but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

A game plan established, he showed his family out before turning to the apartment with a deep sigh. Research, be nice, and don’t show fear. Right, because that’s sure to work out, he thinks as he bends down to begin reorganizing his DVD collection from where it was scattered across the living room. It’s not like he was dealing with an irrational supernatural entity or anything. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Atsumu had only just begun to gather the nerves necessary to pay a visit to the crotchety old man who lived in the apartment next door when the ghost finally showed itself. 

Monday, in the early morning hours, he woke again with a start. A creeping sensation slithered down his spine, and he knew the second he left the sanctity of his bed that he was in for a treat. From the kitchen, he could hear faint movement, obviously not a mouse or the typical groans of an older building. He slunk out of bed, across the bedroom, and down the hall, creeping around the corner to peek into the kitchen. 

He wasn’t sure what he had expected the ghost to look like. A part of him had assumed that it would be a woman, dark hair covering her face, like the _yūrei_ his father used to scare him and Osamu with stories of. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see the vaguely transparent form of a young man with an impressive carrot-top. It was hard to tell, considering the fact that he was floating a bit, but he was pretty sure the ghost was a head shorter than him, fine-boned and lean. The ghost’s shoulders were surprisingly wide but his wrists were slender; if he wasn’t dead, Atsumu might’ve called him cute, or at the very least, charmingly petite. 

He stood there for a while, watching the ghost as it puttered around his kitchen (or should he call it their kitchen?). Atsumu felt, stupidly, a little cheated. _This_ was the spirit making his life so miserable? When he was alive the kid couldn’t have weighed more than sixty-five kilograms soaking wet, yet he was the one who’d torn his house apart like a cyclone? 

A sudden chill in the air broke Atsumu from his thoughts as the ghost finally realized he was no longer alone. The ginger let out a peculiarly human gasp, and the two stared at each other as the lights started to flicker. 

Before Atsumu could say a word (and what would he even say? “Hello” seemed rather paltry, all things considered), the ghost vanished as if it had never been there in the first place. 

Atsumu stood in the kitchen doorway, dumbfounded. The functioning part of his brain registered the scent of citrus lingering in the air. It was the same smell as the mystery body wash he’d noticed a few months before. 

❂ • ✧ • ❂  
  


_“So!”_ began Osamu over the phone two weeks later, _“Ma says you’ve found yourself a roommate. I wonder if he’d want any pointers on livin’ with you, I’ve got about a billion.”_ Atsumu had to remind himself that, no, he cannot strangle his twin, as he’s currently fifty-six kilometers away. Besides, his gran would be upset if he committed fratricide. 

“Can it, asshole. S’not funny. I’d just _love_ to see how you’d handle a fuckin’ ghost,” Atsumu shot back without any real heat. “Wanna know what he did today?” When Osamu makes an appropriately intrigued noise, Atsumu launches into his already-prepared diatribe against all things ghostly. 

Since that night in the kitchen, whatever previous shyness the ghost had about his corporeal form seemed to have disappeared. He was suddenly _everywhere,_ at any time, doing whatever his little dead heart desired. When Atsumu would leave the bathroom in the morning, there was the redhead’s form slipping into the living room, quick as a minnow. When Atsumu would come home after practice, there was the ghost standing by the doors to the balcony, watching the city outside. When Atsumu would be making dinner, there he was, kneeling at the table. 

He was unnervingly _there_ , but despite his constant presence, the two had yet to say a word to each other, if speech was even possible. Sometimes Atsumu didn’t even think the ghost was aware that someone else (someone living) was in the apartment with him. His wide eyes would stare through Atsumu like he wasn’t even there; once, they’d accidentally brushed shoulders in the hallway and the ghost had actually _passed through him._ Atsumu had raced to the bathroom to take the world’s hottest shower in a desperate attempt to drive away the slimy chill that had sunk into his bones. 

It wasn’t like having a cat anymore, as he’d told his mother. It was like having a really weird, really quiet roommate who hated him and refused to acknowledge his existence and who could also walk through solid walls. 

When Atsumu finished his rant, panting lightly, there was a pointed silence from Osamu’s end. 

_“Feel better?”_ his brother asked a minute later when he’d caught his breath. Annoyingly, Atsumu did feel a lot better. This was the first time the two had spoken in a month and it felt good to hear his twin's voice. He could see in his mind’s eye the expressions that must’ve been on Osamu’s face as he told his ghost story (hah); the deceptive bored slant of his mouth and the constant twitching of his restless hands. He took comfort beyond description in the knowledge that here was another person, the only person on this planet, who knew his every idiosyncrasy the way he knew Osamu’s. Not that he would ever admit it, though.

“I’d feel better if there wasn’t a ghost in my apartment, Samu,” he eventually replied, not giving his brother anything that could be used against him. 

_“Have you figured out who the poor fuck is?”_ asked Osamu, _“I know ma said you were gonna ask that old bastard next door.”_

The twins had a very particular, very petty grudge against Mr. Saito. When he’d come from Kobe to help Atsumu move some furniture into the apartment, the old man had scolded Osamu at length in the elevator for swearing in public. Atsumu had been in stitches at this man who barely cleared five feet, scolding his brother who even years after he quit volleyball was built like a brick shithouse. 

No one was safe, though; Saito-san had turned his attention to Atsumu next, yelling at him for playing music too early in the morning when _respectable_ people were trying to sleep. Their mother had found the story hilarious, of course; the image of her adult sons being verbally flayed by someone else for a change was just too good. 

“Yeah, I am. Later today actually,” answered Atsumu, smirking at his brother’s noise of disgust. “I’ve put it off too long. I’ll just come bearin’ food and hope he’ll feel kindly towards how pathetic I’ll look.” Both of them now sat thinking about that for a second before coming to the same conclusion that, yeah, that wasn’t fucking likely. 

“Anyways, what else has Ma been tellin’ you? Did she tell ya what happened to dad at work?” diverted Atsumu. He let Osamu’s voice wash over him as he turned back to where he’d been carefully forming onigiri as his offering to Mr. Saito. They didn’t look perfect (he lacked Osamu’s masterful artist’s touch), but he knew they’d taste fine. It was Osamu’s recipe after all, and Atsumu was perfectly capable of following directions. He gave the necessary responses to his twin’s rants about his employees or customers when prompted, plating the rice balls carefully and what he hoped was sufficiently artfully. 

❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Half an hour later, Atsumu stood in front of his neighbor’s door. He’d been standing there without knocking for about a minute, earlier courage having deserted him. Before he let himself turn around and walk back to his not-so-empty apartment, the door swung open and Atsumu had to look down to see who’d done it. Mr. Saito just glared up at him, expression unreadable, as if he hadn’t decided on scorn or blatant hostility yet. 

Finally, the old man left the door open, turned around, and hobbled back inside. When Atsumu didn’t move, he heard the other man bark from somewhere in his apartment, “Well? Are you comin’ in or not, boy?”

Atsumu carefully toed his shoes off in the genkan before walking as softly as he could to the kitchen. Mr. Saito’s apartment was set up as a mirror of his own. The old man was shuffling around the kitchen, laying out a tray of teacups and plates. He beckoned Atsumu over to the counter without ever looking at him, directing him to start laying out the onigiri. 

A few minutes later, the two sat in silence at the table. Mr. Saito seemed to be enjoying the rice and his tea while Atsumu picked at his onigiri, avoiding eye contact or making any noise, trying not to provoke the old man. He was unsuccessful. 

“Stop pickin’ at your food and eat it,” scolded the man, glaring down Atsumu until he was seemingly satisfied with Atsumu’s improved table manners. 

An excruciatingly long time later, the old man finally wiped off his mouth before turning his full attention to the young man sitting across from him. 

They hadn’t interacted much in the few months that Atsumu had been living there, and Mr. Saito didn’t seem to quite know what to make of him. Atsumu was quiet enough, at least up until recently when the noise level of the neighboring apartment fluctuated more drastically. Atsumu rarely, if ever, had guests over. He watched the television at a reasonable volume and didn’t run water very early or very late, making the aging pipes rattle and groan at inconvenient hours. After the elevator incident, Mr. Saito hadn’t been able to complain about the music volume, either. 

Mr. Saito was well aware that the young man on the other side of his table would’ve rather dropped dead than willingly come to his door with a plate of homemade food. He had a suspicion as to why his neighbor was here now, avoiding eye contact, with dark bags under his eyes that spoke of stress and restless nights. 

“So,” he began slowly, carefully watching Atsumu, “You’ve met Hinata-kun, I take it. No other reason you’d be imposin’ yourself on me.” He smirked at the dumb look on the kid’s face. 

“Hinata-kun, sir?” asked Atsumu tentatively.

“Your apartment's former tenant, boy. Well, the one who lived there before the two after him, but they don’t count. They didn’t last long enough,” Mr. Saito hummed. He was honestly surprised that the boy in front of him had stayed as long as he had, certainly longer than the other two families. Maybe he was more than just a handsome face.

Atsumu leaned across the table, suddenly alert. “You knew the guy who lived there before me, Saito-san?” he asked, excited. The old man just nodded, not saying anything else. Atsumu remembered himself and returned back to his seat, hands folded in his lap. 

The two stared at each other for a long while, before the old man sighed and looked away. “I knew him. He’d lived there for a few years before…” He stopped himself, before continuing. “Good boy, that Shouyou-kun. A little loud, but always helpful. When my wife died, he came over every chance he got to help out ‘round the place.” 

Atsumu could tell there was more to the story than Mr. Saito was letting on, but had a feeling that it was best not to push it. The older man’s expression could only be described as haunted; he knew that his ghost (Hinata, apparently) had probably met an unfortunate, premature death but he was beginning to suspect the story was more gruesome than anything he could imagine. 

Suddenly, something his neighbor had said earlier occurred to him, and his head snapped to Saito with a jerk. “What did you mean, I met Hinata-kun? How did you know?”

The old man _hmphed_ and said “I’m no fool, son. Something’s been running wild in that apartment, long before you came here. It could only be that poor boy.” 

Atsumu thought about that for a minute. While Hinata had been rather rowdy lately, he wouldn’t exactly call it “running wild,” at least not usually more so than Atsumu himself. His thoughts must’ve been transparent on his face, because Saito-san said, “Why do you think you got that place for so cheap, Miya-kun? The two families who tried to live there before you were driven off within a month. Said they couldn’t handle it, packed their things, and left. If you hadn’t shown up and been so gullible, the apartment would’ve stayed empty.” The old man smirked. “Well. Not so empty, I suppose.” 

Atsumu sat there digesting that while Mr. Saito began cleaning up around him, too deep in thought to register the oddity of the other man not berating him for failing to help his elders. He was jolted from his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Saito-san looked down at him, expression oddly gentle. “Don’t be afraid of him, boy. He was a gentle soul in life. I doubt that’s changed in death.” 

When Atsumu returned to his apartment, it was with one question answered and a million new ones left in its place.

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Strangely, despite how little he still knew about his ghost, just knowing that he had a name settled something in Atsumu. Knowing Hinata had been an actual person and wasn’t a demon or something equally malevolent helped too. 

After his visit to Mr. Saito, he didn’t see Hinata’s corporeal form for a few days. There were still things being shifted in his apartment, and Atsumu could tell that he wasn’t always alone. When Hinata was present, he could sense a low-grade humming in the corners of his perception, like the low sound of music being played from another room. 

Atsumu spent a lot of time thinking about what Saito-san had said, or rather, what he’d left unsaid. He’d talked to his mother immediately after, and she strongly encouraged him to do some research of his own into what had happened to the former young renter of his apartment, now that he knew his name. He knew that he should, but a large part of him was too afraid of what he’d find; not just because it would be sad and probably gruesome, but because. You know. It had almost definitely happened _in his apartment._ He’d bet good money that Hinata-kun’s end had come about in that perpetually cold spot in his living room by the balcony. Fantastic.

He felt that he owed it to the ghost, though. Atsumu couldn’t imagine what kind of pain he must be in. What would it be like to be trapped for _years_ in the place where you’d lost your life? To see people you didn’t know come and go, the world changing around you? Sometimes, in the precious few moments, Atsumu had to see Hinata’s expression before he vanished into thin air, the look on his face scared him more than the haunting itself. The helpless frustration and confusion in those huge eyes convinced Atsumu that he had to do _something_ to help this spirit, damn his own fears and trepidation. 

At practice, his new thoughtfulness was such a stark contrast to his usual attitude that it garnered attention from not just Bokuto, but also Meian. Atsumu was wiping the sweat off his face after a particularly grueling weight training session only to see Meian shifting from foot to foot in front of him when he lowered the towel. 

“Uh,” started Atsumu, unsure of what he’d done to garner the undivided attention of the older man, “What’s up, captain? Is somethin’ wrong?” He couldn’t imagine that he’d done anything that needed private scolding, wracking his brain to find a possible offense. Maybe he’d been goofing off with Bokkun too much at the bench press? 

Meian waved off his concern, “No, no, nothing’s wrong, Miya. It’s just…” Meian looked suddenly unsure and annoyed at his own hesitance. “You’ve been acting a little off lately, is all. We’ve all noticed something was up, and before you got here this morning Bokuto asked me to speak to you.” 

Of course he did, thought Atsumu. Bokuto was well aware that Atsumu would run naked up Mt. Fuji before voluntarily confessing his feelings or worries, so getting someone with the authority to make Atsumu spill his guts was the only other option. The bastard was much smarter than people gave him credit for.

Unfortunately, Atsumu doubted he could tell his captain what was really going on. Maybe Kita would’ve understood, but he’s pretty sure if he told Meian, “Actually, captain, I’m not ok, thanks for noticing. My apartment’s being haunted by the ghost of a cute boy who was most likely brutally murdered in my sitting room and the knowledge of this is really fucking with me,” he’d be carted off by men in white coats to somewhere quiet and secure.

So instead he just said, “Nothin’s wrong, Meian-san. Just a lil’ bit of insomnia lately. There’s this bright light from the building across the street from my bedroom and it’s been keeping me up.” 

Meian just gave him a skeptical look that rivaled his mother’s before sighing. “Alright, Miya, if you say so. Just remember that we’re all here for you, okay?” He slung a sweaty arm around Atsumu’s shoulders and said, “You should order some blackout curtains. My wife and I bought some for our daughter’s room, I’ll send you the Amazon link.” 

Atsumu hated the oily feeling of guilt in his stomach. It’s not like he wanted to lie to the man, but really, did he have any other choice? With any luck, he’d sort this ghost thing out sooner rather than later, he could stop lying to his team, and his life would return to normal. 

Something about the thought of that made him feel even worse. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Atsumu was in the kitchen, chopping scallions for dinner when the microwave-humming sensation of Hinata’s presence registered in his mind. He didn’t look up from what he was doing, watching from the corner of his mind as the ginger materialized by the fridge. The way he slowly formed from mist was really spooky. 

The ghost didn’t seem to register his presence, so Atsumu let himself look more closely. He was right about his initial assessment of Hinata’s height; he really was a shrimp, head barely clearing Atsumu’s shoulders. He couldn’t help but wonder how old he’d been at the time of his...departure. From the fact that he’d lived here on his own for a while, Atsumu would guess Hinata had been Atsumu’s age or at least close. 

Trying not to stop what he was doing and alert the ghost to his attention, Atsumu kept making dinner while keeping an eye on his visitor. He couldn’t help but think that, yes, Hinata really _was_ cute; he didn’t doubt that the guy had never lacked admirers in life. His sweet, round face and mop of bright, wavy hair were undeniably charming. 

Wait, wait, wait. Was he actually crushing on a ghost right now? _Seriously?_ His mother would laugh her ass off if she ever got wind of this, and he dreaded to think of the ribbing he’d get from Osamu. Atsumu shook his head, dispelling that train of thought, but the movement seemed to finally catch the ghost’s attention. 

Hinata spun to look at Atsumu, eyes wide, form already beginning to return to mist. Atsumu panicked, and before he could think twice he shouted, “Hinata, wait!” 

To his shock, Hinata did. His form materialized completely again (maybe even more solidly than it had been before?) and stared at Atsumu in shock, mouth gaping open. 

Before the ghost could escape again, Atsumu said, “That’s your name, right? Saito-san told me. Hinata Shouyou.” 

Hinata nodded, expression full of wonder. “Saito-san is here?” asked the ghost, the first words Atsumu had heard from him. His high, lilting voice fit him, bright and sweet. It didn’t escape Atsumu’s notice that the ghost’s eyes kept flickering to the vegetable knife in his hands. 

“Well he’s not here, he’s next door. He told me about you, about what happened to you,” Atsumu replied. The ghost’s nose scrunched cutely at that, confusion clear on his face. Atsumu kinda really wanted to pinch those round cheeks. 

“What happened to me?” asked Hinata, head tilted like a bird. “What do you mean…” His brows furrowed even deeper, frustration clearly mounting. “Who are you?” he asked. 

Atsumu raised an eyebrow at the command in his voice. “I’m Atsumu. Miya Atsumu.” 

Hinata wasn't appeased. “Why are you in my apartment, Miya-san?” 

“First, call me Atsumu. Second, uh, this is _my_ apartment, Shouyou-kun.” 

Hinata leveled a truly impressive glare at him. “This is my apartment.” 

“Pretty sure it’s mine, Shouyou-kun, considerin’ I signed the lease in August and it was just my name on that paper.” Maybe arguing with an obviously confused ghost was petty and wrong, but something about Hinata made Atsumu want to provoke him. His gran would say it was like a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground. So, Hinata was exactly his type, sue him. He did feel bad when he saw the mounting confusion and fear on Hinata’s face, though. 

Hinata began blinking hard, looking around the kitchen. The differences in decor and furnishing since his death apparently began to register as he floated from counter to counter, inspecting each change. He stroked the set of fancy knives Osamu had given Atsumu as a house-warming gift, eyes beginning to go distant. “I don’t…” he trailed off, turning to Atsumu, seeking. 

Atsumu couldn’t handle the wave of pity that washed over him. “Listen, Shouyou-kun…” he began, unsure of the best way to go about this, if there even were good ways to tell a ghost they were, in fact, very much dead. _Be nice,_ his gran’s voice reminded him. _A gentle soul,_ echoed Mr. Saito’s. 

“Shouyou-kun, you’re dead. Have been for a while, I think.” 

Honestly, he should’ve anticipated the way his kitchen would explode at that revelation. Still, he was caught off-guard when a storm that made Hinata’s earlier tantrum pale in comparison swept through his kitchen. 

“ _Fuck,”_ Atsumu cursed when a cabinet door almost brained him as it swung wildly on its hinges. The lights flickered like a strobe and a wind came from nowhere to sweep along in its current the vegetables Atsumu had prepared. In the middle of the storm stood Hinata, eyes closed shut and face contorted into a grimace.

“Shit, _Shouyou-kun,_ you’ve gotta stop,” yelled Atsumu, hurrying across the room to Hinata. Without thinking, he reached out to the ghost to grab his shoulders. They both gasped in shock, Hinata’s eyes flying open. Atsumu ignored the pins and needles sensation radiating from where his hands were wrapped around Hinata’s shoulders and shook the ghost. “Shouyou, it’s alright. It’s okay. Please stop destroying my kitchen,” pleaded Atsumu, looking into Hinata’s eyes. From this close, he could see that they were a pale mimicry of what must’ve been a truly vivid brown. 

The touch seemed to snap Hinata out of his panic, as every item flying through the air suddenly dropped to the ground. Atsumu winced when he heard what he was pretty sure was his fancy porcelain teapot, a gift from his father’s sister, crash to the ground. He could worry about that later, though; now, Hinata’s eyes were beginning to well with tears, and Atsumu could _not_ handle crying, especially from someone who by all rights shouldn’t even be able to cry. 

Atsumu became suddenly aware of the way his hands were still grasping the ghost’s shoulders, and dropped his arms back to his side, fighting to keep down the blush rising to his cheeks. Not _now._

“I’m sorry I sprung that on you, Shouyou-kun. S’true, though. You died here a while ago. Sorry I can’t tell you any details, I’m not sure what happened,” said Atsumu gently, rubbing the back of his neck. Hinata laughed a little manically. 

“I’m not sure I’d even want the details, honestly,” he said, ducking his head. “I can’t believe...it’s really true.” He looked up at Atsumu. “How long has it been? Since I died, I mean?” 

Atsumu winced. “I dunno, I didn’t think to ask. Saito-san said that two other families had tried to live here before me, so it must not have been too long. I’m sorry I don’t know more.”

Hinata shook his head. “It’s alright, Atsumu-san. I just…where’s...” he trailed off again, looking frustrated again. “I feel like there’s something I’m missing,” he finally said. 

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “Besides the whole ‘dying’ thing?” he asked, deadpan. Hinata leveled a chastening look his way, and Atsumu looked away, flustered. “Sorry, that was in poor taste,” he apologized, not looking to actually offend the ghost. But Hinata wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, gaze sweeping the apartment. When he turned back to Atsumu, he noticed that Hinata was beginning to look mistier. 

“I’m forgetting something. No, I’m forgetting _someone,”_ Hinata said, his form becoming more transparent every passing second. Before he disappeared again, he said to Atsumu, “Saito-san. Please, ask Saito-san.” 

When he finally vanished again, Atsumu stood in the center of his kitchen, unmoving. The only proof that he hadn’t just had an extended audio-visual hallucination was the disaster of his kitchen. 

He picked up his phone as he grabbed the broom to start sweeping up the broken pieces of his teapot, dialing the number for take-out. A homemade dinner was out of the question for tonight. Eight hours of sleep probably was, too. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  
  


The next morning found Atsumu knocking on Mr. Saito’s door, this time bearing a bag of expensive organic tea his aunt had sent him. When the old man opened the door, he took one look at Atsumu’s face before grunting and beckoning him to come in. 

As Mr. Saito brewed Atsumu’s tea for them both, he directed Atsumu to set up cups and dishes at the kotatsu in the other room. Fifteen minutes later, as Atsumu was blowing on his cup of tea, Mr. Saito asked, “Heard shoutin’ from your place yesterday. I take it Hinata-kun stopped by?” 

Atsumu found himself glaring at the old man before he could stop himself. “Yeah, he had a field day with my damn kitchen.” 

“Language,” reprimanded Saito-san. He looked at Atsumu from the corner of his eye. “That’s not all that happened though, is it? You wouldn’t be here otherwise.” 

Was it a requirement that all people his grandmother’s age be incredibly blunt and incredibly perceptive? It was starting to get weird. 

“We talked. Me and Hinata-kun, I mean. Poor kid didn’t even realize, you know,” gestured Atsumu meaningfully. “Took it pretty bad at first, but when he came to terms with it he asked me to talk to you. Said he was forgetting someone. It seemed pretty dam- _dang_ important to him.” 

Mr. Saito sighed a great big burst of air at that, cheeks puffed. “He can’t remember his family, I think. That’s what he’s missing,” he eventually said. “He was always close to his mother and little sister.”

That piqued Atsumu’s interest. “He had a family? D’you know they are now?” he asked, eager. He figured that if Hinata got to see his family, that might set his soul at ease and get him out of Atsumu’s apartment. 

“The mother’s dead. She died a few years after he did. His sister is livin’ in Miyagi with a family friend, last I’d heard,” said Mr. Saito, sipping his tea. “The girl is probably in college, by now.” 

“Um, Saito-san,” edged Atsumu. “How long ago, exactly, did Hinata-kun die?” 

“Oh, I’d say it’s been almost ten years, now. Happened in the spring,” said the old man, shaking his head. “Terrible, terrible thing.” He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, but Atsumu figured he had enough information to do his own research now. 

“Do you remember his sister’s name?” asked Atsumu, already dreading the inevitable awkward conversation with Hinata’s sister he’d have to have. He could just imagine it; Hi, I know you wouldn’t know me from Adam, but I think my apartment is being haunted by the ghost of your brother? Wait, why are you running away? No, no- no, don’t call the cops!

Saito was shaking his head. “Sorry, son, I can’t remember. I only met her at the funeral, and she was still young then. Didn’t say a word.” 

Atsumu already felt terrible for the way he’d have no choice but to dredge up unwelcome memories from the girl. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if something happened to Osamu like what had happened to her big brother. The last thing he’d want is a stranger poking old wounds. 

Later that night, Atsumu finally, _finally_ gathered the balls to open up his browser and look up “Hinata Shouyou, Osaka, death.” The first result was an obituary from a local newspaper, which Atsumu clicked on. 

_“Hinata Shouyou, on April 15th, 2010,”_ it read, _“died at age 21. Formerly of Osaka and Karasuno, Miyagi prefecture, Hinata-san was a loving son, brother, and friend. He is described by his mother, Hinata Haru, as being a “source of light and joy” to all who knew him. A talented athlete, Hinata-san intended to become a professional volleyball player before his tragic death.”_ Atsumu stops reading at that, bemused. Of all the ghosts, he got one just as volleyball-obsessed as he is. He read on; _“The young man was tragically murdered, found by a neighbor who heard a commotion in the apartment and investigated. Police are officially ruling the death the result of a break-in gone wrong. No suspect has been found.”_

At the end of the obituary, before information as to where the funeral ceremony was being held, Atsumu found, _“Hinata Shouyou leaves behind his mother and nine-year-old sister, Natsu.”_

Natsu. Atsumu opened a new tab to Facebook, typing in Hinata Natsu’s name. He scrolled past a few women who were definitely too old before he found her. From the page smiled a young woman who was the spitting image of her brother. He smiled at images of her with her teammates at Niiyama Joshi, and more recent posts showed a happy college girl surrounded by friends. Natsu-chan seemed to be a perfectly normal, well-adapted girl. Except, he could see on her page an update from that past April;

_“Today I’m remembering my brother, Shouyou, who died nine years ago this month,”_ the post read. _“Shouyou was the best older brother anyone could ask for. He had nothing but love for everyone who knew him, and he was taken from us senselessly. Police never found his killer, if they ever even looked.”_ At the bottom of the update was a link to a group called “Remembering Hinata Shouyou.” Natsu went on to say, _“I invite anyone who knew Shouyou and has any time to spare to help me in the fight to have his case reopened, and his killer found.”_

Atsumu followed the link to the group. There weren’t many posts on it, and most were from Natsu herself, giving updates on what seemed to be a dedicated amateur investigation into her brother’s death, as well as her repeated attempts to get the police in Osaka to work with her. She wasn’t his sister, and his connection to her was shaky and fragile, but Atsumu couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest at her dogged determination. 

He hesitated a moment before going back to Natsu’s page and hitting the “message” button. Not letting himself chicken out, he began to type; 

**_Natsu-kun_** , he began, **_My name is Miya Atsumu, I’m 23, and I play for the MSBY Black Jackals. I’m messaging you to tell you that, this summer, I moved into your brother’s former apartment in Morinomiya. I recently found out what happened to him from his neighbor, Saito-san, and I would like to talk to you about Shouyou. I promise, this isn’t me being a creep; it’s very important. Please message me back when you get a chance._ **

He sent the message and immediately closed his laptop. He turned over in bed, praying that Natsu-chan wouldn’t immediately disregard his message, and fell into a restless sleep sometime later after hours of tossing and turning. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Atsumu refused to check his Facebook inbox the next morning, but his phone still burned a hole in his pocket on his way to training. In the bright, stark light of the winter morning, sending that message last night was seeming more and more foolishly brash. Osamu would probably call it a classic foot-in-mouth situation. After all, if Natsu didn’t immediately delete the conversation and block him, what would he say if she did? Your dearly departed brother isn’t so departed? If you’d like to meet him, just hang around in my hallway or kitchen around 3 am and you’ll be sure to catch him? 

Atsumu was more distracted than he meant to be during practice. When he flubbed a few too many receives and botched sets he’d usually be able to pull off in his sleep, he knew he wouldn’t be avoiding a lecture from Meian or Coach Foster. At the end of practice, he spent time running through the list of possible lies he could tell his captain while doing his cooldown stretches. Atsumu was so deep in thought (should he blame a noisy neighbor? Garbage truck outside his window woke him up early?), he didn’t realize Bokuto was about to tackle him until the beefcake was already draped over his back. 

“ _Oof,_ Bokkun, what the fuck?” squawked Atsumu, trying to dislodge his outside hitter, feeling a bit like Atlas. What was Fukurodani’s former setter feeding this guy? “Get the hell off me!”

Bokuto started rubbing his sweaty, gross head against Atsumu’s like a cat. “Nuh-uh, Tsum-Tsum! Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you lately!” 

Atsumu growled. “My _problem_ is that you weigh a fuckin’ _ton_ , asshole! Jesus!” When Bokuto still wouldn’t budge, Atsumu brought out the big guns, the wrestling techniques learned from years of fighting with someone who gave as good as he got. The two tousled together like stray cats, slapping and kicking each other until Meian sent Shion to break them up. 

“Alright, fellas, that’s enough now,” said Inunaki, ripping the two apart with that freaky libero-strength they all seemed to possess. “Bokuto, leave Atsumu alone. Atsumu, stop trying to kill Bokuto.” 

Bokuto stood up, barely having broken a sweat as Atsumu panted on the ground, glaring up at him. The bastard pointed at Atsumu, and said, “Don’t think you’re getting out of this one, Tsumu! I’ll beat the weird out of you if that’s what it takes.” Bokuto smirked, expression sending a chill down his spine. “If you don’t tell me what crawled up your butt, I’ll tell Myaa-sam, and he won’t be nearly as nice as I am.” 

Atsumu couldn’t exactly tell Bokuto that Osamu knew fully well what was wrong with his twin, as he’d already been plenty subjected to his brother’s lovely brand of judgment. Still, this wasn’t going away; Atsumu made the snap decision to come (sort of) clean. 

“Alright, alright, you win,” conceded Atsumu. “I’m actin’ weird cuz I found out recently that a kid was killed in my apartment. It’s been a little spooky livin’ there, knowin’ that.” He winced at the horrified expression on Bokuto’s face, as well as his other teammates’ hanging jaws. 

“Miya, what the hell, man?” asked Barnes, horrified. “You’re not joking around right now, right?” Atsumu scoffed. If only. 

“Dead serious,” sighed Atsumu. He ignored the giggle from Inunaki behind him. “Ten years ago, a kid was murdered in my apartment. I found his obituary last night.” He looked up at his teammates and smiled wryly. “Poor guy was a volleyball player, too. What’re the odds, huh?” 

Bokuto was giving him his patented squished-puppy look. “Aw, Tsumu. If I’d known that I wouldn’t have pushed so hard.” He tilted his head at him in a way that reminded Atsumu eerily of Hinata. “So, what are you gonna do about the apartment?”

“Uh, nothin’?” When Bokuto looked at him like he’d grown another head, Atsumu said, “Bokkun, the guy’s dead. Nothin’ I can do about what happened there, but at least I can still pay dirt-cheap rent until my lease is up.” 

Bokuto wasn’t appeased by that. “Are you sure? Because me and Akaashi would be fine with putting you up for a while, honest!” 

Atsumu laughed at him, taking Bokuto’s offered hand and pulling himself to his feet with a groan. “That’s not necessary, Bokkun. It’s not like I have a ghost,” he said. Looking around, none of his teammates seemed happy with his blasé attitude. He began to pack his gear up, anticipating a hasty retreat. “Hey, guys, m’sorry for worryin’ you all. I’m fine, though, really. Don’t waste time concernin’ yourselves with my life.” That didn’t work either; Meian and Barnes exchanged a loaded look while Bokuto looked like he was approaching tears. Inunaki’s face was scrunching angrily, and even Tomas, the quietest and most distant of his teammates, looked unhappy. 

“It’s not like it’s an imposition to care about you, Atsumu-kun,” began Meian. “You’re our teammate. It’s normal for us to worry about you.” 

Atsumu suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there, in that gym, having this conversation. Not bothering to change out of his sweaty practice clothes, he pulled his old Inarizaki hoodie on before quietly thanking Meian, wishing the guys a good night, and beating it the hell out of there.

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


**Samu >:-( (17:45): Bokuto texted me, said something abt an ‘incident’ @ practice td. What the hell did u do ? **

Atsumu groaned when he got out of the shower and saw that message. Would it kill Bokuto to mind his own business, even just this once? One hand toweling off his hair roughly, the other texted back: 

**_Me (18:00): nothing. bokuto’s just being nosy. leave it alone._ **

He knew damn well that wasn’t going to get Osamu off the scent. Sure enough, five minutes later, his phone started ringing. He ignored it the first two times the voicemail picked it up, but when the ringtone his _annoying little brother_ set started to seriously grate on his nerves, he answered it. “What the fuck do you want, jackass?” 

_“Oh, I’m the jackass?”_ scoffed Osamu on the other end. Atsumu could hear the hustle and bustle of his shop in the background, Osamu’s cashier Yuuto calling an order number, people’s muffled conversations. _“I’m not the one who apparently ran out of practice the second someone dared to be nice to him.”_

Atsumu really wasn’t in the mood for this. Yesterday, plus practice earlier, plus the fact that he was still too nervous to check Facebook and angry at himself for it, made it difficult for him to control his temper. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I said leave me the hell alone.” 

He could imagine the ugly look on Osamu’s face right now. Atsumu hoped he’d scare off customers with his hideous mug. _“Tsumu, this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be having a conversation with my adult brother about lettin’ people know he’s got feelings, and that there are people who care about him. Get over yourself.”_

Atsumu saw red. “I- You-” he spluttered. “ _First of all_ , we’re the same fuckin’ age, and, technically _I’m_ older, so stop acting like _you’re_ the mature one.” He ignored Osamu’s laugh and plowed forward. “Second, you _really_ don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You don’t know what happened at practice, you don’t know what’s happenin’ here, you don’t know anything about this, or me. Stop pretendin’ you’re the expert on _me_ , and stop puttin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

He hadn’t realized he’d been shouting until he felt his throat go a little tight and sore. On the other line, it had gone suddenly much quieter; either Osamu had gone to his cramped little office to have this conversation or Atsumu was so loud his brother’s customers were shocked into silence by the sound of his voice.

When the quiet stretched on, Atsumu started to feel immensely guilty. He’d meant what he said, though; he didn’t need Osamu’s help, or Bokuto’s “help,” or his team’s concern. None of them could possibly know what he was going through, and not just about his little Casper problem. And that was a strategic choice on Atsumu’s part. The less people knew about him, the less they could find fault with; the less his team knew about who he really was, the longer he could delay the inevitable by showing them the face they wanted to see. 

He wasn’t sure if Osamu knew that, though. Atsumu never had to hide himself from his twin, had never had to worry about being perceived. The two had always shared everything: toys, food, clothes, the womb. If Osamu didn’t abandon him after his humiliating crush on Aran in their first and second year (and elementary school, and middle school), he probably wouldn’t abandon him for feeling a little sad or exhausted. Still, he didn’t particularly feel like baring his soul to Osamu on a Tuesday night when all he wanted to do was reheat some leftovers and sleep off his day. 

“Listen, Samu, I’m-” Atsumu began, but his brother cut him off. 

_“No, Tsumu, don’t apologize. I’m sorry. I was pushy.”_ said Osamu, actually sounding regretful. _“I know better than to try to get anything out of you.”_

Atsumu laughed a little, the first time since he’d gotten home. “Well, y’know what Gran’d say about stones and blood.” Osamu laughed at that, then suddenly sobered. _“Hey, y’know you can tell me anything, right? If you ever grow up and want to?”_

No one knew how to be so sweet and yet so insulting in the same sentence as Osamu knew how to. Atsumu’s heart warmed a little regardless. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Before he could say anything else, he felt his phone buzz from where it was pressed to his cheek. Confused, he swiped down on his notifications only to almost drop the phone in his excitement. 

“Listen, Samu, it’s been real. Let’s not do this again anytime soon, ‘kay? _Loveyoubye_ ,” Atsumu hung up before Osamu could interrupt him, and opened Facebook Messenger. Right at the top, above messages from his uncle in Singapore and the guy he bought his sofa from on Marketplace, was one new message from Hinata Natsu. 

**Hi, Miya-san. What do you need to tell me about Shouyou?**

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


“Thanks for agreein’ to meet me here, Natsu-chan. I know it’s a lot to ask,” smiled Atsumu nervously, surreptitiously wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Hinata Natsu sat across from him at a table in a coffee shop in Namba. When she’d agreed to meet Atsumu in person, it was on the condition that they meet somewhere well lit and public in the middle of the day. She’d also told him all her friends knew his number, face, and address, so he should be wary of trying anything funny. He really couldn’t find it within himself to be offended. 

Natsu just watched him, nose crinkling the same way her brother’s did at the nickname. “It’s fine, Miya-san,” she said. The resemblance to her brother was truly uncanny; everything from her hair to her eyes to her voice was a carbon-copy of Shouyou. 

“Please, call me Atsumu. No one really calls me Miya. Curse of the twins,” he laughed awkwardly, his smile starting to slip when Natsu just sipped her 500 yen iced latte (Or was it an americano? Frappuccino?). He tried again. “So, Natsu, you’re in university! How’s it treatin’ you?” 

She sighed at him, rolling her eyes. “Listen, Atsumu-san, I’m not here to make small-talk, and I’m not here to find a boyfriend. If that’s why you messaged me and invited me here, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” She put her cup down and placed her hands on the table, folded together. “You said you wanted to tell me something about Shouyou, so I came. So you’d better start talking before I make a scene.” 

Jesus, were all the Hinata kids this scary? Whatever their mother had been like, Atsumu had a feeling she would’ve gotten along just swell with his own. 

Atsumu let his smile drop completely. “You’re right, Natsu-chan. I’m sorry. I do have to talk to you about Shouyou-kun, it’s just…” He fidgeted nervously with the drawstring of his hoodie. Natsu had begun to tap her short nails against the table impatiently. 

He tried yet again. “Natsu, your brother died in my living room, right? By the balcony, closer to the wall?” Atsumu couldn’t help but wince when her jaw tightened and her eyes welled with tears. She made the same faces as her brother. 

“How did you know that? That information was never made public,” she grit out, voice choked. 

Atsumu’s leg begun to bounce with anxiety as he took a deep breath. He really, _really_ did not want to do this in a public place. He’d feel terrible for the Jackal’s publicist if she had to deal with “MSBY Black Jackals Rookie Setter Miya Atsumu Harasses Female University Student! (Full story on page 8).” 

“Natsu-chan, the thing is-and you’ve gotta promise me you won’t scream or slap me or call for help, seriously, hear me out- the thing is, my apartment, that is, your brother’s old apartment, is being haunted. By a ghost. Your brother Shouyou’s ghost, specifically, not some random ghost, I wouldn’t have called you all the way here for some random ghost, I’m not _that_ much of an asshole-!” His rambling was cut short when Natsu stood from her seat, marched to his side of the table, and grabbed Atsumu by the collar. She was deceptively strong for such a small girl and Atsumu felt he couldn’t be blamed for the whimper he let out at the fierce fire in her eyes, now a few inches from his own. 

“Take me to his apartment,” she ordered. “Now.” 

Atsumu just nodded, apparently helpless to the demands of the Hinata children. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


As Atsumu unlocked his front door, he asked Natsu to excuse the mess. 

“I wasn’t really expectin’ company, y’know, so if you see a dirty shirt or a towel on the floor please don’t say anythin’ about it, I already know,” he babbled, toeing off his sneakers and trying to peer around the corner to see into the kitchen. He really hoped he’d remembered to do the dishes this morning. Natsu already didn’t like him very much; he didn’t want her to think he let her brother’s old place wallow in filth. 

She didn’t say anything, though, walking past him and into the living room. From there, she went from room to room, Atsumu fluttering behind her like a hummingbird, or maybe a gnat. She stopped in the doorway of his bedroom and raised an eyebrow at the unmade bed and pile of laundry in the corner. Atsumu fought down his blush; he’s a bachelor, after all, what did she expect? 

She turned around in the hallway, head swiveling. Looking for something, or rather someone, he’d bet. 

“You’re a lot like your brother, y’know,” he blurted out before he could help it. She just stared at him, and he continued. “Like, you’ve got his mannerisms and you move the same. You could be his twin. I’d know.” 

Natsu crossed her arms, cocking her head. “You’ve really seen him then?” 

Atsumu laughed a little at that. “Yeah, I’ve seen him, alright. More than a few times. Curly orange hair, brown eyes, always wearing a shirt that says ‘meat,’ for some reason? About,” he gestures with his hand somewhere around his shoulder, “yea big.” 

Natsu giggled, to his shock and delight. “You’re exaggerating. Shouyou was definitely bigger than that.” 

“Or maybe you were just smaller than he was, so he seemed larger.” 

She ducked her head, smiling, but when she looked up, her expression was guarded again. “Do you think I could see him?” 

Atsumu thought about that for a second before shrugging. “Dunno. I’ve never actually, like, summoned him before or anything. He’s usually just there.” 

“Please don’t use the word ‘summoning’ in reference to my big brother.”

“Right, sorry. Uh, I’ve never initiated contact with him. I’m not really sure how I would, but I can try.” Atsumu walked down the hall to the living room, Natsu trailing in his wake. Standing in the middle of the room, he felt rather foolish when he started to call “Shouyou-kun! I, uh, I went to Saito-san like you asked. I’ve got someone here to see you.” He and Natsu stood in the middle of the room waiting, as Atsumu tried not to feel too stupid. He was opening his mouth to try again when he felt Hinata’s presence and heard Natsu gasp.

He whirled around, and there was Hinata, looking devastated. “Natsu?” he whispered, voice cracking. 

His sister nodded, tears already spilling down her cheeks. She reached out to him before Atsumu could warn her against it and put her hand on Hinata’s cheek. The siblings jolted, then began to sniffle in unison. Natsu started to laugh through her tears and said “Atsumu-san was right. You’re shorter than me now.” 

The ghost choked out an incredulous laugh between sobs before reaching out to touch his sister’s hair. “You let your hair grow out?” he asked. 

As the Hinata’s reacquainted themselves, Atsumu began to feel as if he was intruding. He made to slip into the kitchen to brew a pot of tea when Hinata said, “Atsumu-san, wait.” When he turned to the ghost, Hinata bestowed upon him the widest smile he’d ever seen from another person. 

“Thank you.” 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Later that night, after Natsu had gone back to Miyagi with the promise that she could come and visit whenever she wanted as long as she called first, and that they would stay in touch, Atsumu collapsed onto his couch with a groan. He lay there, boneless, staring at the spot by the balcony dispassionately. He sensed more than felt Hinata’s presence re-enter the room, lingering by the kitchen doorway. Atsumu rolled his head towards him, only to see brown eyes already watching him. 

“What?” he asked the ghost a little self-consciously. Hinata just shook his head, his smile more subdued than his earlier beam but still achingly genuine. 

“Nothing. I’m just grateful,” said the ghost, moving closer to the couch. Atsumu couldn’t help being surprised when Hinata settled on the couch next to him. The foot of distance between the two of them felt charged, and not just because of the curious natural energy field Hinata carried around his form. “Seriously, Atsumu-san. You didn’t have to reach out to Saito-san, or Natsu. You didn’t have to do anything for me.” Hinata rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Especially since I’ve made your life pretty difficult, huh?” 

When Atsumu spluttered, trying to deny Hinata’s words, his ghost just laughed and waved him off. “I’m not dumb, Atsumu-san. I should be thankful you haven’t had me exorcised yet; I gave you plenty of reasons to, um, evict me, I guess.” 

Atsumu squeaked a little at that metaphor. God, this kid. He despised the fact that, in another life, Atsumu would’ve absolutely been all over him like a cheap suit. 

“Honestly, Shouyou-kun, it’s no big deal. I was gettin’ pretty lonely in this big apartment by myself,” Atsumu smirked at Hinata, making the ghost’s cheeks flush a _lovely_ shade of pink. Atsumu had noticed in moments like this, when the two were comfortable or Hinata wasn’t aware of his presence, he manifested more solidly. The only indication that he wasn’t actually alive was the corona of light along the edges of his figure. 

“Still,” said Hinata, gaze turning distant. “I wish I could repay you, somehow, but I know I’ve got nothing I could offer you.” 

Atsumu smiled wryly. “Well, you could start by not trashing the apartment whenever you’re upset, for one.” Hinata’s blush darkened and it was his turn to splutter as Atsumu laughed. “H-hey! You know I can’t control it.” 

Pushing at his companion’s shoulder without thinking, Atsumu only winced a little at the sting. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Don’t worry about repayin’ me or anythin’ like that. Knowin’ your name and that you’re not some evil spirit or something has been payment enough.” 

He watched as Hinata turned to hide the smile that crept unbidden across his face. Atsumu remembered how Natsu had reached out to his hair earlier. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked? Would he be able to feel the spring of his curls, or would any sensation be overpowered by the static feel like his shoulders? 

“Atsumu-san?” Hinata’s voice snapped him out of his daze. He felt his chest flush, thinking Hinata had caught him staring, only to see that Hinata wasn’t even looking at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Did Saito-san say what happened? To me?” 

Atsumu wasn’t sure how to answer. “Not...really, no. He didn’t seem like he wanted to share and I didn’t want to ask.” Hinata nodded along, expression guarded. “Why? D’you remember anything?” 

Hinata shook his head. Atsumu was dismayed to see his form was starting to gain that transparency that heralded Hinata’s return to wherever he went when he wasn’t floating around the apartment. “Only glimpses. It’s all really blurry. I remember being cold and confused, and then in a lot of pain. Then nothing.” 

Atsumu watched in horror as Hinata vanished again, his cheeks soaked. He was left alone on the couch, shivering despite himself in Hinata’s absence. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


**Natsu :3 (09:17): Hey, are you free this weekend? I wanna come see Shou. Plus I’ve got some stuff to show you.**

Atsumu raised an eyebrow at the text. From what he’d observed, it wasn’t like Natsu to be cryptic. Walking into the gym, he texted back: 

**_Me (09:19): sure, i’ll be free sunday. what kinda stuff?_ **

Before he could slip his phone into his gym bag, he felt someone ruffle his hair before slinging an arm around his shoulders. He turned to see Inunaki hanging off him like a limpet, his grin impish. 

“Can I help you?” asked Atsumu, bemused. 

“Sure can, Atsumu-kun. Soon as you tell me who you’re texting. Is it a girl? A special lady friend, perhaps?” Inunaki grinned suggestively, blond eyebrows wagging. Atsumu snorted and shoved him off, laughing when he hit the ground with a squeal. 

“Not even remotely, Wan-san. Besides, didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to read over people’s shoulders?” asked Atsumu. Seriously, Natsu couldn’t be any further from a romantic interest if she was on another planet. Putting aside the fact that he wasn’t sure either of them swung for the other’s team, she was the little sister of the ghost he may or may not have a teensy-weensy crush on. So, no. Gross. 

“Aw, don’t be that way! We’ll find someone for you yet!” declared Inunaki, hand over his heart. Barnes and Meian watched them from where they stood with Coach Foster, grinning at his antics.

“Trust me, you don’t have to go out of your way doing that for lil’ old me. I’m perfectly fine as I am.” Inunaki whined at that and spent the rest of practice pestering Atsumu with the names of eligible women (and a few men), laughing when Atsumu flushed a deep red. 

Atsumu appreciated Inunaki’s efforts, but they were in vain; after all, he couldn’t exactly tell his teammate that he was actually interested in someone right now. That would only lead to more questioning, and more pestering, and more digging. Atsumu could just see it ending with Inunaki’s discovery that, like a fool, his idiot teammate had gone and fallen for a ghost. 

In his defense, it’s not like he could help it, though. Since the first time Natsu had come over, Hinata had been materializing more and more often. Sometimes, it was only for a few minutes at a time before vanishing without a word, the ghost watching quietly and not interacting as Atsumu cleaned or cooked or relaxed after a long day. Other times, he was so _there_ that Atsumu could almost forget that he wasn’t actually alive. 

Like a few nights ago. Atsumu had been woken from a restless sleep at midnight to sounds coming from the living room. Not terribly concerned, but still hoping it wasn’t a burglar (and wouldn’t that be ironic?), he’d tried to doze off again, leaving Hinata to whatever it was he was doing. He was roused a few minutes later by his door creaking open, Hinata’s face peering at him from the crack. 

“Shouyou-kun?” asked Atsumu groggily, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. “What’s the matter?” Hinata stuttered and spluttered, eyes flicking back and forth from Atsumu’s bare chest to his face while trying not to be obvious about it (and failing). Atsumu smirked and stood up to stretch, watching the blush on Hinata’s cheeks spread to his ears. 

“The- the balcony door is stuck, and I can’t get it open,” Hinata stuttered, pointedly looking away. 

He had to hide his grin at Hinata’s squeak when Atsumu put a hand on the ghost’s lower back as he squeezed past him into the hallway. It was almost _too_ easy to rile him up; then again, Hinata hadn’t gotten laid in ten years so Atsumu wasn’t exactly playing fair.

In the living room, he pretended he couldn’t clearly see Hinata’s reflection in the door’s glass watching his back muscles flex as he tried to unjam the balcony door. When he finally got it open, he took a moment to appreciate the contrast of Hinata’s freckles against the pink of his cheeks before gesturing to his handiwork. 

“Thanks, Atsumu-san,” chirped Hinata up at him, slipping past him onto the balcony with its rickety little table and chair set and dead potted plant. He stood there for a few seconds before the smile slid off his face. 

Atsumu immediately noticed the change in his mood. “Shouyou-kun? What’s wrong?” 

Hinata’s head snapped to him, caught out. His expression was almost unbearably sad. “It’s nothing. Just me being silly.” Atsumu hummed and walked out onto the balcony next to him, trying his best to ignore the way he was freezing his ass off. 

“Anything that puts that look on your face can’t be ‘nothing,’ shortie,” said Atsumu, laughing as Hinata spluttered and flailed and glared playfully at Atsumu before turning his gaze away pointedly. Hinata’s eyes watched the town move below them, and Atsumu watched Hinata. He couldn’t help but think that he’d never seen anyone so perfect in all his life. No one else had ever looked so gorgeous, limned in moonlight and the neon lights from the businesses below, so ethereal and otherworldly. 

_That’s because he is otherworldly, jackass,_ scolded the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Osamu. Not that Atsumu wasn’t deeply aware that Hinata wasn’t from the same world as him, and therefore untouchable. Didn’t hurt to look, though (although looking made it almost impossibly difficult not to touch.)

Hinata suddenly sighed, the action wracking his entire body. At Atsumu’s inquisitive noise he smiled ruefully and turned to his companion. “It’s dumb, but. I thought I’d be able to feel the breeze.” He gave Atsumu a wide grin, painfully fake. “I should’ve known better, huh?” 

Atsumu didn’t stop to think before he reached out and put his hand on the back of Hinata’s neck. When wide, glassy eyes sought him, he gave Hinata a closed-mouth smile. 

“Can you feel this?” Hinata nods, and Atsumu’s thumb strokes the side of his neck, where what was once soft skin must’ve stretched under his ear, over delicate bones. 

“Good. That’s all that matters, then, no?” 

Atsumu let himself, for just a few moments, pretend that this wasn’t destined to end horribly; that he wasn’t falling head over heels for a boy who’d died when he was in middle school, who could never grow old and grey like Atsumu himself would eventually have to. The two stood there until Atsumu really started to shiver before moving back inside and curling up together on the couch. When Atsumu woke the next morning, Hinata was gone. The only proof that he ever had been there was the indent in the throw blanket nest they’d made and the ache in Atsumu’s chest.

Yeah. Atsumu liked Inunaki, but he wasn’t sure divulging any of that to him, or to Osamu, or (god forbid) Natsu would be a good idea. A part of him hoped reality would set in and he’d come to his senses, abandoning the idea of loving Hinata Shouyou. Another part knew he’d never been quite as happy as when he came through his front door and could feel Hinata in the other room, his presence a balm to the soul.

Unfortunately, Atsumu had never been very good at thinking rationally about the things he loved. He would pour the essence of his heart into whatever or whoever earned his attention until there was nothing left inside him but fumes. 

Hinata would probably not be the exception to this rule. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Sunday morning, Natsu showed up at Atsumu’s front door carrying an old, scuffed manila folder stuffed to bursting in one hand and a coffee in the other. Atsumu watched, impressed, as she somehow managed to take off her boots and winter coat without putting down either burden. She bullied past him to the kitchen, Atsumu trailing behind her, before plopping the folder on the table and helping herself to the breakfast Atsumu had made in anticipation of her appetite. If he hadn’t been intimately acquainted with the dietary needs and habits of athletes, he’d be horrified to see such a small person put down as much food as Natsu did. When he’d told her that, she’d just laughed and told him Shouyou had been a thousand times worse.

While she dug in, Atsumu slid the thick stack of papers from the folder she’d brought with her. He supposed this was the “stuff” she’d mentioned in her text. Closer inspection revealed what looked to be police reports and documents, back-dated ten years. 

Atsumu, wide-eyed, looked to Natsu who nodded in confirmation. “Remember the cop I told you about a few weeks ago?” she asked, mouth full of natto. “Shouyou’s old volleyball captain?” 

When Natsu had first brought Atsumu into her amateur investigation, she’d told him about Sawamura Daichi. Sawamura had been working as a detective in Osaka when Hinata was murdered and had devoted himself to the case, to the displeasure of his superiors. His efforts hadn’t been successful, obviously; he apparently came up against opposition and deliberate obfuscation at every turn and from anyone involved directly in the case. His dogged persistence had meant a rather forceful transfer to another city, a move meant to either punish him or silence him. 

It had worked for a while, too. That is until Natsu had learned of his efforts in her own investigation and dragged the man back into the fight. Natsu hadn’t told Atsumu too much about her and Sawamura’s work together, since she “didn’t want to jinx it,” but apparently it had paid off. 

“These are pretty much all of the documents Daichi-san has access to, plus a few others he definitely didn’t. From what I can gather, he pulled quite a few strings to get these.” Natsu stood up in her seat and reached for the pile, flipping through papers until she found what she was looking for. Atsumu took it out and placed the document on the table between them. 

Natsu skimmed through the report until she stopped, tapping a section of it pointedly. “This one was particularly interesting.” Atsumu couldn’t see why; half of the page was blacked out, most of what would’ve been pertinent details redacted with a black marker. His confusion must’ve shown on his face because Natsu rolled her eyes. “Think, Atsumu-san. For a ‘cut and dry’ break-in gone-wrong, this is a hell of a lot of secrecy.” She gestured to the rest of the papers that Atsumu had spread out across the kitchen table. “And why so much paperwork? Why did Daichi-san have to fight and lie and steal to get some of these?” 

She had a point. As Atsumu shuffled through the rest of the documents, large redacted portions seemed to be a common theme. Shouyou’s obituary had said that his killer was likely a petty thief or homeless person who’d disappeared into the depths of Osaka’s underground society after the murder. If a killer had never been found, and the police had next to no suspects, then what was all this for?

Across the table, Natsu pulled another pile of papers out from the rest. “Look at this,” she said, pointing to the bottom of the last page. “There should be more after this, but you can see at least two pages were torn off. You can still see the tops of the papers that were there stuck in the staple.” 

Atsumu took the packet from her to see for himself. The last paragraph of the last page was just as unhelpful as every other report seemed to be. In fact, the only paper from the bunch that looked normal was the “official” report of Hinata’s murder, with it’s description of the crime scene and the initial investigation. 

Also on the official report was the description of the deceased and the manner of death. Somehow, Atsumu wasn’t shocked to see “sharp force trauma” listed as the cause of death but his stomach still lurched warningly. No one had ever said explicitly that Hinata had been stabbed, but whenever the ghost was in the kitchen, his avoidance of knives was clear, intentional or not. 

“Daichi-san thinks that this was an inside-thing,” said Natsu suddenly, derailing Atsumu’s morbid train of thoughts. “He thinks it was someone within the department or someone who had ties to it. Someone who may have had a reputation that couldn’t be ruined with an association to the murder of a young gay man.” 

Atsumu stared at her, too stunned to form words. Somehow, Shouyou’s sexuality hadn’t come up in any conversation so far. It seemed a rather glaring thing to omit. “Shouyou was gay?” 

Natsu nodded, wrapping her hands around her now-lukewarm coffee, eyes gone distant. “Yeah. He wasn’t, like, super open about it, obviously. Me and mom didn’t know until the funeral; a friend of his was there and let it slip. I was too young to care, and Mom had more important things to worry about, but Daichi-san knew. He thinks it may have factored in, and I agree.” 

It made a horrifying amount of sense. If someone important, someone in power, had ties to a young gay man like Hinata, it would be all too easy to simply remove Hinata from the picture and make it look like an accident. 

“Does Sawamura-san have any other leads? Any ideas about who might’ve been responsible?” asked Atsumu as he flipped through a few more documents. 

“He said he’s going to look deeper into it. Ask around a bit, contact some old friends in the department who were more involved in water-cooler gossip than he was.” Natsu’s face suddenly shuttered, and she looked uncommonly apprehensive. “But...Atsumu-san…” 

Atsumu waited, perplexed. Natsu usually didn’t have a problem with asking for whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. He watched as she sighed, rubbing her eyes. 

“Atsumu-san, do you think you could ask Shouyou? About his death, or even just about any ties he might’ve had to the police?” she eventually asked. 

“M-me? Natsu-chan, you’re his sister,” spluttered Atsumu. “Wouldn’t you be the better choice to ask ‘bout all that?”

Natsu leveled a serious look his way. “Atsumu, I was nine when Shouyou died. He’s only ever seen me as his baby sister; how could I possibly ask him about that?” She smirked a little, and said, “Besides. You two have gotten quite close. I don’t think he’d flip out if it was you doing the asking.” 

Atsumu choked and stuttered out a denial, flushing bright red all the way to his chest as Natsu cackled at his reaction. _Good to know they gossip about me when I leave them to their “sibling talks,”_ thought Atsumu darkly. He tried to placate his embarrassment with the knowledge that Natsu was too damn perceptive to have never noticed anything. Atsumu’s weekly rambling updates on Shouyou and their conversations were certainly enough of a give-away. 

Still. Asking Shouyou about his murder and secret gay life in Osaka would be painful and awkward for everyone involved. But Atsumu could, unfortunately, see where Natsu was coming from; it really did have to be him. 

An hour later, Atsumu and Natsu had put away the papers when Shouyou himself had made an appearance. The three chatted, no mention made of the folder burning a hole in the middle of the table. 

Interacting like this with the Hinata’s felt _good._ Atsumu felt like Natsu had warmed up to him, and might even become a friend in time, strange as their relationship may have begun. At times, she teased him exactly the same way Osamu did; it seemed all younger siblings instinctively knew the right buttons to push and prod at. Underneath her snark, Atsumu got the impression that she at least didn’t hate him the way she may have in the beginning. 

And Shouyou…

Atsumu knew he wasn’t being terribly subtle with his crush. Flirting and bantering with each other had somehow become a staple of their interactions; just because Natsu was there didn’t mean that was going to change. But more than once, he’d see Natsu watching him shrewdly from the corner of his eye as he made Shouyou laugh or ruffled his feathers. 

Eventually, Natsu had to leave to catch her train back to Miyagi. As Atsumu was showing her to the door, trying (and failing) to help her into her coat, Natsu turned to him and said, “Atsumu, I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

He tried to play dumb. “I’m not really sure what you mean, Nacchan. Now hurry, you’ve gotta get to the station before the train leaves!” He tried to gently nudge her out the door, but the two ended up squabbling in the genkan. Atsumu finally managed to get her out into the hallway, slamming his door shut. Natsu wheeled on him, a furious blush rising high on her cheeks. 

“What the hell is wrong with you!” she seethed, small fists clenched. 

Atsumu couldn’t answer that, though. What _was_ wrong with him? He knew exactly what she’d meant before; that she’d noticed his gigantic crush on her brother, her _dead_ brother. That this path would only lead to pain, that he’d end up hurting Shouyou. 

But Shouyou had been lingering in the other room, no doubt able to hear everything. This wasn’t a conversation he’d wanted to ever have, let alone in his presence. 

“Natsu,” Atsumu started hesitantly, “I already know, and you don’t need to worry. I promise you, I’m never gonna hurt your brother intentionally. I’m not gonna let myself.” 

He couldn’t figure out why that had made her face crumple. Was she about to hit him? But to his horror, she began to sniffle. Before he could even think about the right way to comfort her, Natsu had launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him in a hug. He awkwardly patted her back, his body rigid.

“You’re such an idiot,” she mumbled thickly into his hoodie. “I’m not worried about Shouyou.” She leaned back to see his face and sighed at what she’d found. Stepping back, she readjusted her coat, smoothing down the front. 

“Promise me you’ll call me when you talk to Shouyou about what Daichi said. And, you know, when you figure yourself out.” She jabbed her finger into his chest pointedly before pulling him back down into another hug, quicker this time. 

Atsumu watched as Natsu left without another word, ponytail swinging behind her, before turning back to his front door. 

He banged his head against the door, groaning when he realized he’d locked himself out. Calling for Shouyou was out of the question, as Atsumu gave what he hoped was a winning smile to the middle-aged woman who lived across the hall who was coming back home with arms full of groceries. She was shooting him dirty looks as he loitered in the hallway. 

Turning to Mr. Saito’s door to ask the old man for the spare key he left there, Atsumu resigned himself to his well-deserved humiliation.

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Weeks after Natsu’s visit, Atsumu still hadn’t gathered the balls to seriously ask Shouyou about his death. 

All earlier attempts to do so hadn’t been successful; the ghost vanished every time the topic was broached. Atsumu wasn’t even sure he was doing it consciously, and he couldn’t even blame Shouyou if he was. Who’d want to confront memories like that? 

At the same time, Atsumu knew it would eventually be necessary. As vibrant as Shouyou seemed since he and Atsumu had gotten close, there were moments when his mask slipped and Atsumu could see the roiling sea of pain just barely hidden underneath. At those times, Atsumu knew that Shouyou could never truly be happy in this world, no matter how much he loved his sister and how much he may have come to enjoy Atsumu’s company. 

When he was younger, Atsumu’s grandmother had explained to him what happened when a spirit was trapped in the world of the living. She’d been in the process of helping a friend of hers exorcise such a spirit from her home; the woman had been tormented for months. His gran had said that the spirit wasn’t exactly to blame for the terror it caused. To be trapped, disembodied and disconnected from the world around you, would slowly and insidiously erode even the strongest of minds. When a ghost remained trapped for too long, the only reprieve would be a more permanent death. If their spirit deteriorated past the point of reason, only exorcism could put them to rest. 

Atsumu wouldn’t wish such an end on anyone, let alone someone like Shouyou. But it would only be a matter of time before Shouyou was just as senseless and unresponsive as the ghost his gran had to exorcise long ago. And Atsumu couldn’t guarantee that he would always be around, or Natsu even; Shouyou was proof of the unpredictability of life. 

They’d have to put Shouyou’s soul to rest, he and Natsu, sooner rather than later, for all their sakes. No matter how much they loved him. 

Atsumu’s dark mood stayed with him even when he was doing the things he loved most. At practice, his team had been giving him a wide berth; he hadn’t been particularly snappy or rude (to his relief), but they could still sense that he was to be left alone. A few months ago he wouldn’t have cared, but he hadn’t met Shouyou yet a few months ago. 

He knew his family could tell something was wrong even over the phone. Osamu had asked him more than once if he should take a day off from work to come visit him. Atsumu knew he could only reject and deflect for so much longer until Osamu just showed up at his doorstep uninvited. Their parents were even worse; Atsumu had taken to letting his mother’s calls go to voicemail, saying in a text that he was too tired to talk. That would only work for so long, too; Atsumu and his brother had gotten their pig-headed stubbornness from that woman after all. 

Strangely enough, Atsumu got the odd impression that even Shouyou had cottoned onto his mood. The ghost was only around for an hour or two a day before he dematerialized, but Atsumu supposed that time was all he needed. 

Shouyou would often go quiet and thoughtful; he’d watch Atsumu when he didn’t think he noticed. It was a different sort of quiet than what Atsumu had come to expect from Shouyou; rather than the absent-minded blankness of before, he could tell that Hinata was watching him carefully, almost calculatingly. This new, piercing stare was unsettling and a little bit freaky. Something told Atsumu that it wasn’t just Shouyou’s ghostly nature manifesting itself in strange ways. It was probably something innate to him, something that had been buried in the fog of his death and subsequent half-life. 

He didn’t seem inclined to act on whatever he was seeing, though, for which Atsumu was grateful. God only knew what Shouyou saw when he looked at him so closely; any closer and Atsumu dreaded what Shouyou would find buried under his skin. 

❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


As it turned out, Atsumu didn’t need to be the one to broach the topic; Shouyou himself did his work for him. 

Atsumu had been cooking dinner, later than he usually did. The Jackals had won their afternoon game and his time after the win had been monopolized by press conferences and fan meet-and-greets. He’d turned down the offers of bar hopping with the rest of the team to retreat back home, to the warmth and quiet company his apartment offered. 

Shouyou had materialized a few minutes after Atsumu, still damp from his second shower, began slicing the pork for his fried udon. He never felt properly clean after showering at the gym; he’d scrub the worst of the sweat off himself with the team and destroy his water bill taking a thirty-minute hot shower back home. 

Atsumu absently watched Shouyou attempt to pick up the pack of noodles he’d bought earlier at the convenience store down the road. It was both fascinating and hilarious to watch Shouyou struggle to get a grip on the bag; he was fully capable of _moving_ things around but picking things up with his own hands seemed to be a different beast. When Shouyou finally got the bag in his hands and the udon in the boiling water, the triumphant gleam in his eyes was enough to make Atsumu stop his own preparations, lest he cut himself. The way his features softened as he watched the ghost turn his efforts to the mushrooms would’ve made Osamu retch.

Shouyou finally seemed to notice the attention on him. “What? What’s wrong?” 

Atsumu just shook his head, reaching over to “ruffle” Shouyou’s hair. They’d learned that didn’t quite work the way it might’ve in life; rather, it was almost as if Atsumu’s movement sent a current through Shouyou’s curls, the strands waving like seaweed. Either way, Shouyou still growled and batted his hand away, giggling at the static shock. 

“Get lost, you menace, I’ve got dinner handled. Why don’t you try turnin’ the radio on, huh?” Atsumu prompted, trying to get Shouyou out of his way so he could make his freaking dinner. (Plus, he liked to keep him away from any knives if he could help it; he didn’t want to trigger another kitchen disaster inadvertently). 

Shouyou stuck his tongue out at him before floating off to the small, antique radio Atsumu kept on top of the fridge. It had been a house-warming gift from Osamu, who knew his twin liked the comforting hum of the radio and its static in the background of his life. 

He turned back to the pork, placing it and the mushrooms in the sizzling pan as Shouyou managed to fiddle with the knobs of the radio. Atsumu hummed appreciatively when Shouyou landed on a station playing the pop of his parent’s youth, swaying his hips distractedly to the beat. 

Atsumu jumped a little in shock when he felt Shouyou lean against him, the long line of his slender body sending bolts of little lightning across his skin wherever they touched. Shouyou seemed content to ignore the discomfort in favor of wrapping himself around Atsumu’s left arm, the other preoccupied stirring the cooked noodles and sauce into the pan. His cheek rested against Atsumu’s shoulder, a small smile plastered across his features as he hummed along to the music, rocking with the movement of Atsumu’s body. 

It was moments like these that destroyed Atsumu; when he and Shouyou were like any other new couple, tentatively testing the waters of domestic bliss, cooking dinner together after a long day. Only, Atsumu was only cooking for one. And during the day, Shouyou didn’t go to work or school; his spirit followed paths secret and unknown, gone nowhere that Atsumu could follow. 

Atsumu shook his head to dispel those thoughts; they didn’t matter right now. Right now, his dinner was done and Shouyou was hanging off him like a limpet.

“Off, you. You’re like a big piece of orange velcro,” Atsumu laughed, shaking Shouyou off his arm so he could bring his meal to the table. Shouyou _hmphed_ in fake-offense, sitting close to Atsumu at the table. As Atsumu ate, he watched Shouyou nod and hum along to a new song on the radio. 

Something about it caught his attention, and his gaze turned inward. Before Atsumu could snap him out of it, Shouyou asked, “Atsumu, do you know the name of this song?” 

“No,” Atsumu replied, mouth full. Shouyou tutted, exasperated, and he swallowed. “I can look it up, though?” 

As Atsumu used his phone to listen to the song, Shouyou watched the screen, fascinated. When he’d died, flip-phones were still the big thing. Shouyou never failed to be impressed by the technology that had improved in his absence; Atsumu always got a kick out of showing him the smart TV. 

When Atsumu found the song, Shouyou’s eyes lit up in recognition. “I thought so! Someone I knew used to like this song.” 

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t often that Shouyou would volunteer details from his past; not out of secrecy, but rather because his memory had become fuzzy with time and death. “Oh? Who liked this cheesy old thing?” 

Shouyou laughed a little, ducking his head. “Nobody important. A guy I’d been...seeing, for a little while.” Shouyou’s nose wrinkled a little, and his face scrunched as he titled his head to the side in thought. “Come to think of it...we’d only been dating for a few months when, you know,” he said, throwing a significant glance to the Spot in the living room they both avoided like the plague. 

Atsumu was suddenly alert, intuition ringing like claxons in the back of his mind. “Yeah? What was he like?” he asked, aiming for casual and falling short if Shouyou’s unimpressed look was anything to go by. He still humored what he interpreted as Atsumu’s jealousy, humming in thought.

“He was...good-looking, I guess. Mysterious and broody; he never told me much about himself, besides the fact he didn’t get along with his father,” Shouyou said, feet rubbing together absently as he remembered. “His family was influential, though, but I don’t know in what way. Jirou-san never had to worry about money.” 

_Interesting_ , thought Atsumu. This was aligning pretty damn well with the picture Sawamura had painted of Shouyou’s potential killer. “Jirou was his name, Shou?” 

Shouyou nodded, running his finger aimlessly across the tabletop in abstract loops and figures. “Yeah. I can’t really remember his family name. He was pretty insistent I use his first name, basically demanding it.” 

Very interesting. Natsu would be pleased with this information. Hopefully, she and Sawamura could do some digging where he couldn’t. Atsumu would bet that this Jirou was the son or something of whoever had locked Shouyou’s case files away under tonnes of red-tape and redactions. 

Atsumu turned back to his dish, slurping down the last mouthful of udon. “Sounds like a real prick,” he said, grinning at Shouyou’s noise of disgust at his once-again full mouth. 

He got up to clear the table of his dinner, Shouyou trailing behind him as he washed the plates in the sink. It was odd; Shouyou was never this clingy, usually. Not that he was cold, or anything; the two had grown closer and closer in the past few weeks. Atsumu would call this the early honeymoon phase of their relationship, except his hypothetical boyfriend was a ghost and neither had ever _actually_ confessed. But regardless, Shouyou didn’t tend to initiate contact like he was tonight. Like how he had now wedged himself between Atsumu’s body and the kitchen counter, leaning back against Atsumu’s chest. 

Atsumu bit down the gasp that wanted to escape, both at the proximity and the pins-and-needles radiating down his front. Drying his hands, he spun Shouyou around, grabbing his hands to pull him into the middle of his tiny kitchen. 

“What’s gotten into you tonight, sunshine?” he asked, head bent low to Shouyou’s ear as he rocked them both back and forth to the tune drifting lazily from the radio. But Shouyou just shook his head, pink flush high on his cheekbones, laying his head on Atsumu’s chest. 

The two swayed together, connected, as the evening faded into night. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


“So, I asked Daichi-san to poke around for Jirou,” said Natsu, popping a takoyaki into her mouth. Atsumu leaned in to steal one of hers (having eaten them all), only for his hand to be slapped away for his efforts. 

“Yeah? Did he have any luck?” he asked, rubbing his stinging hand. It had been a week since Shouyou gave them what might be their lucky break. He and Natsu were bundled up on a park bench a few blocks away from Tenjinbashi, taking a snack break from shopping. Natsu was in Osaka for an away game with her college team so Atsumu had offered to give her a tour of the city. It also gave them the opportunity to talk about their investigation without worrying about Shouyou overhearing. 

The bracing cold of the open park was a nice change from the clammy warmth of the street. Atsumu let the wind cool his cheeks, watching a schoolteacher herd her flock of charges at the playground down the way. 

Natsu had polished off the last takoyaki when she finally answered. She’d been starving earlier, and Atsumu had feared for his life if he didn’t get some food in her. The street food seemed to appease the beast that was the infamous Hinata appetite, at least for now. 

“Actually, Daichi recognized the name himself,” she said, wiping her mouth. Atsumu made an intrigued noise, prompting her to continue. “He wasn’t sure, but he thinks he may have met someone named Jirou at a police event or two when he worked in Osaka.” 

Atsumu wasn’t surprised; when he’d relayed what Shouyou told him to her, the two had spent hours theorizing where “Jirou” fit into Shouyou’s old life. They’d agreed on the theory that he must’ve been the son of someone high-up; when his...affairs came to light, Shouyou must have been the collateral. 

“Did he say anything else?” 

“No, it’s been so long he couldn’t remember any details. He’s got a trusted friend looking into it, though. Someone who was around at the same time and who’s not gonna go blabbing.” Natsu led them back towards the arcade, determined to do a little more shopping before heading back to where her team was staying. 

From shop to shop they drifted, haggling and buying. Atsumu wasn’t looking for anything in particular, content to let Natsu peruse to her heart’s content. He let her babbling wash over him, the sound of someone else’s gossip and drama giving him something to focus on besides the press of the crowds around them. 

His mind kept drifting back to practice the day before. It had been a frustratingly unproductive day; try as he might, Atsumu was having trouble making his sets connect with some of the second-string players. Not that he particularly cared about them --they weren’t his main hitters-- but it still grated to not click. 

Atsumu had fought to keep his frustration down and his tone even but he suspected he hadn’t been entirely successful. Meian had pulled him aside after practice to check in with him; Atsumu had apparently been broadcasting his annoyance in the tense line of his shoulders. 

He was less frustrated by the ineptitude of the scrubs on the B string and more by his own reactions to them. They weren’t the guys he’d be setting to in a game, most of the time, but their sullen glares and huffs still rankled. Why make it _his_ problem that they were useless? And why was he letting them provoke him into the behavior he’d told himself he wasn’t giving into? 

Before he could think about it, he was interrupting Natsu’s animated story about her godparents, the couple that had taken her in after her mother’s death. “Nacchan, what’s your relationship like with your teammates?” 

She blinked at him, caught off guard before her brow furrowed. “Atsumu-san, I just spent the past half hour telling you about how I’m gonna slap our middle blocker silly if she doesn’t stop flirting with the girl I’m talking to.” 

He waved her off. “No, not like that. I don’t mean petty little shit.” He pretended to not hear her affronted gasp. “I mean, as a player. What’s your relationship like with the rest of the girls?” 

Natsu went quiet as she flipped through a rack of knit sweaters in the clothing shop they’d landed in. Her forehead wrinkled the same way Shouyou’s did when he was digging through his jumbled memory.

“I think…” Natsu started hesitantly, “I think, Atsumu, that it’s not perfect. Sometimes we fight and not all of us get along. But we all respect each other’s skills, ultimately, and trust in each other’s decisions.” 

He thought about that as he followed Natsu to the cashier, absentmindedly eyeing the huge stack of clothing she had in her arms and already dreading being the one to have to carry it. Somewhere along the way, Natsu had made him her pack mule when she saw how little Atsumu was buying himself.

Atsumu rolled the words _trust_ and _respect_ around in his mind like marbles. He didn’t think either really applied to himself in regards to his team. It was because he trusted and respected his hitters that he demanded nothing but the best from them; coddling them would be doing a disservice to the skills they obviously had.

So, maybe he didn’t show it that well all the time. He _supposed_ that expressing himself clearer to his team could be something he started to work on. Still. He got the distinct feeling that as much respect and trust he may have for his team, the feelings weren’t always reciprocated. The knowledge stung more than he wanted to admit it did. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Atsumu was still chewing on what Natsu said on the train ride back to his apartment after he'd already dropped Natsu back off to her team with the promise to come to her game the next day. He was so caught up in his own head that when he walked through his front door, he didn’t register the fact that his apartment was fifteen degrees colder than it should’ve been. 

It reminded him eerily of the scene Shouyou had caused months ago when Atsumu had finally snapped and confronted the extra presence in his apartment. _Every_ window was open; the bedroom windows, the small window in the shower that was always jammed, the little curtained window in the kitchen, its drapes floating lazily in the frigid breeze. Even the balcony doors were open. 

The sight and the chill stopped Atsumu’s thoughts in their tracks. He didn’t want to discount the possibility of a break-in (especially considering this apartment’s history), but this scene had Shouyou’s staticky fingerprints all over it. Atsumu went from room to room, closing windows and turning on space heaters, waiting impatiently for Shouyou’s appearance with no small amount of concern. Shouyou hadn’t had a ghostly freak-out like this since he and Atsumu first made each other’s acquaintance in the kitchen what felt like forever ago. If he was backsliding…

As Atsumu began to work himself into a panic, he felt Shouyou’s presence. He whipped around to see the ghost standing in the middle of his bedroom, looking a little lost and a lot confused at how Atsumu’s teeth were chattering and his nose was bitten red. 

“Atsumu-san? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” asked Shouyou, the concerned wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. 

“Shou, did you open all the windows in the apartment while I was gone?” Atsumu asked. His heart sunk like an anchor to the bottom of his stomach when Shouyou stared at him in confusion, shaking his head. 

“I don’t…” Shouyou started, blinking rapidly. “I don’t...remember doing that. At all.” 

Atsumu felt sick. “Shouyou, when I came home, every single window was wide open. Now, I sure didn’t do that, and there’s no one else here but you and me.” 

Shouyou shook his head rapidly, his form going pale and translucent the way it always did when he was upset. He reached a hand out blindly to Atsumu, who took it and led Shouyou to sit down on the foot of his bed. 

Stroking the back of Shouyou’s hand, ignoring the mild electrical-socket sensation, Atsumu tried to quell the tide of fear cresting under his collarbone. “Shou…” he began hesitantly, “Have you been doin’ that lately? Doin’ things and not rememberin’ it later?” 

The sheepish look Shouyou sent him from under his long eyelashes, head ducked, was all the confirmation Atsumu needed. “Sometimes Atsumu...when you’re not here, I don’t know where I go,” Shouyou said, not looking at him. “It’s like I’m caught in a dream. The only time I’m able to wake up is when I see you.” 

Atsumu felt that being Shouyou’s anchor to this world was as thrilling as it was painful. Under any other circumstances, in any other universe, Atsumu would’ve dropped to one knee in a heartbeat after that comment. But he’s not exactly happy that Shouyou’s sanity hinges on Atsumu’s presence. In fact, it’s fucking terrifying. 

Exactly what Atsumu feared happening to Shouyou was happening, and there really was only one way to solve it. Atsumu grabbed Shouyou’s shoulders and turned him towards him, desperately trying to look past the way his hands felt like they weren’t actually gripping anything solid. “I’m gonna fix this for you, Shouyou. I promise you, I’m gonna take it away,” said Atsumu, catching and holding Shouyou’s gaze as it welled up. 

Atsumu knew, suddenly, in the way that told him he’d always known, that he loved the person sitting next to him and would likely never love anyone like this again. He would never love someone with so much fervor, so much intensity that he felt like he would be swallowed whole by his own feelings.

Atsumu pulled Shouyou into him, holding his head against his neck as the ghost’s form shuddered. 

“I’m gonna make it better,” Atsumu whispered and dragged Shouyou closer. “I swear. I’m not gonna let you hurt anymore.” Shouyou leaned back at that, wide gaze scanning Atsumu’s expression, searching for something. His form gained back some of its opaqueness when he apparently found it. 

“Atsumu-” he started, but was cut off. 

“I’m about to say somethin’ really dumb, Shouyou, and feel free to ignore it. But I love you. It sucks, not because lovin’ you sucks, it’s actually fuckin’ amazing, except you’re dead and I’ve probably got a lot of time left, which sucks because I can’t be with you but it _doesn’t_ suck, obviously, ‘cuz the alternative, of course, is not bein’ alive-” 

Shouyou slapped a palm over Atsumu’s mouth to stop his painful rambling, smiling at the way Atsumu’s heavy-lidded brown eyes blink dumbly at him over his hand. When he took his hand away, Atsumu stared for a moment before asking, “So was that you sayin’ ‘no,’ or..?” 

Shouyou shook his head fondly, exasperated. “Tsumu, if you hadn’t interrupted me, you would’ve heard me tell you that I love you. I probably have for a while, too.” 

Atsumu stared at him, long enough for Shouyou to start shifting in his seat. 

“You’re kidding,” Atsumu finally said. 

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you totally are.” 

“Atsumu, _why_ would I joke about this.” 

Atsumu threw his hands up, incredulous. “I don’t know! Why would you be serious? Me lovin’ you makes perfect sense, ‘cuz you’re you.”

Shouyou raised one thin eyebrow. “And me loving you doesn’t make sense because…?” 

Atsumu spluttered. “Well, ‘cuz, y’know,” he said and gestured broadly at himself. 

Shouyou tilted his head like a bird, eyes taking on that strange, piercing glint. “Atsumu, I love you because you’re,” he said, mimicking Atsumu’s gesture. “You know?” 

Atsumu nodded knowingly. “Thanks, I was hopin’ the extra reps on the bench press were worth it. D’you think I should add more cardio to my workout?” 

Shouyou groaned, guttural and despairing before flicking Atsumu right between his eyebrows. “Why are you making this so difficult?” he moaned, putting his hands firmly on Atsumu’s knees. “Atsumu, I love you because, without you, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t be able to have this conversation. I wouldn’t be able to see Natsu. I wouldn’t be able to watch the skyline outside our balcony.” Shouyou took a great breath and continued, calmer. “I don’t love you because of what you’ve done for me, either. I love you because you’ve never actually _done_ anything for me. Everything you’ve done, it’s just been because you’re good, and sweet, and caring.” 

He sat back, satisfied. “That’s why I love you. Anyone who wouldn’t do the same, who wouldn’t fall for you, is out of their mind.”

Atsumu blinked, once, twice, before his vision began to swim. “What the fuck, Shouyou,” he sniffled, before Shouyou dragged him into his arms, letting Atsumu collapse against his chest. He didn’t pretend to ignore the way Atsumu’s breath shuddered and his body shook; he just ran a hand through his hair as best he could in this form, leaving trails of energy in his wake, humming quietly under his breath.

What felt like hours later, Atsumu finally lifted his head, rubbing at his sore eyes and runny nose. Shouyou watched him fix himself up; his smile was something much more than fond. Atsumu didn’t have the energy to think too hard about it. 

Atsumu reached out to Shouyou and cupped his cheek in his hand. Before he could think twice about it, he leaned down to capture Shouyou’s lips with his own. 

It should’ve been a terrible first kiss; Atsumu was still snotty and damp from his fit of tears, and touching Shouyou for any extended amount of time with such a sensitive part of his body felt like putting a fork in an electrical socket. Yet somehow, despite it all, it was absolutely perfect. 

Shouyou fit perfectly against him like he’d been made with Atsumu in mind. It was a chaste kiss (Atsumu didn’t dare slip him tongue), but no less passionate, no less breathtaking. 

When they finally broke apart, Atsumu was sure his hair must be standing on end. Shouyou looked like he was floating, a dopey smile stretched across his face. 

“We probably can’t go further than that, can we,” Atsumu asked. Shouyou shook his head and Atsumu flopped back on his mattress with a groan. 

Shouyou just giggled, his laugh like chimes, and stretched out next to him. 

Atsumu knew that this hadn’t exactly solved anything; later, he’d still be racing against the ticking hand of fate to save Shouyou from slipping into insanity. He and Natsu would still be trying to catch a killer and solve a ten-year-old cold case. He’d still be facing the rest of his time without the love of his life at his side.

He turned his head to watch Shouyou smile to himself, feet kicking out an aimless, energetic beat at the foot of the bed. 

Atsumu supposed that could all wait until tomorrow. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

“Miya, your phone’s ringing like crazy over here.” 

Atsumu turned from where he’d been setting to Bokuto and blinked at Barnes, who was holding his phone. It was indeed blaring the custom ringtone he’d set for Natsu, the opening theme of Sailor Moon. He scrambled to his feet and crossed the gym floor in a few quick strides, snatching the phone from Barnes’ hand. 

“Nacchan, what’s wrong? What happened?” Atsume demanded, already feeling the cold, creeping ice of panic slide down his spine. Natsu never called him during practice because she was almost always at her team’s own; for her to be calling out of the blue, when they’d spoken just the night before, was worrying. 

He stopped breathing when she said, voice high and breathless, words jumbling together in her haste, _“Atsumu, we were right. Daichi-san just called me and they were able to nail it on Shouyou’s ex. He’ll be in cuffs by the end of the day.”_

The sudden perfect stillness that came over Atsumu’s entire body had Bokuto immediately at his side, leaning against him in silent support. He could only stand there and try not to break out into hysterics in front of his entire team, not to mention Natsu. 

It had been a few weeks since he’d confessed to Shouyou and promised to save him in the same breath. He and Natsu had come clean to Shouyou the next day, telling him everything they’d learned and collected and theorized about the circumstances surrounding his unnatural death. Shouyou had been upset to hear their top suspect, but also didn’t dismiss Jirou outright. Daichi conducted his own investigation in tandem and Atsumu updated Shouyou on his progress every chance he got. 

Every time Atsumu would relay another piece of evidence pointing towards a definitive answer to Shouyou’s murder, something in him would break at the tentative hope clear in the ghost's features. It’s not like he could ever, _ever_ fault or resent Shouyou for not wanting to remain a ghost until the end of time. But every day just brought them closer to the end, to an arrest or two, to Shouyou going where Atsumu couldn’t follow, not yet. 

_“Atsumu? Atsumu, are you alright?”_ Natsu’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. Atsumu guessed he’d been silent for too long and kicked himself; if anyone had a right to be so emotional about this, it was the girl on the other end of the line. 

“I’m fine, Natsu, don’t worry! That’s great news! What else did Sawamura say?” Atsumu asked hurriedly, trying for a normal tone and knowing damn well he’d missed the mark. He only barely registered the solid weight of Bokuto’s hand on his shoulder and the hovering presences of his teammates. 

_“Not much else, I get the feeling he was busy dealing with the fall-out. Listen, Atsumu-san, I’m taking the next shinkansen to Osaka, I’ll be there by dinnertime. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll call you when I’m near Shin-Osaka.”_ Atsumu nodded mutely, and then quickly confirmed when he realized she couldn’t see him. They said their goodbyes with the quiet, musical bustle of a train station in the background. 

Atsumu stood there after he hung up, the arm holding his phone coming down to swing bonelessly at his side. It was like his feet were glued to the floor, his body turned to stone, while the inside of his head felt moments away from nuclear melt-down. He mercilessly squashed the rising heat behind his eyes, fists clenching, knuckles white and shaking. 

Suddenly, he felt a large, calloused hand wrap itself around his own, the hand that was gripping his cell so tight the glass edges had begun to cut his skin. Atsumu looked up to meet Bokuto’s wide, concerned eyes, round like a bird’s. On his other side, Meian placed a hand between his shoulder blades and guided him to the bench. The team trainer took Atsumu and bent him over at the waist, one hand on the back of his neck, grounding him. 

He could feel the team ringing around him in a wide circle; they stood tall like standing stones, silent and watchful. If Atsumu’s heart hadn’t been in the process of trying to escape his chest through his mouth, he would’ve been mortified to have so much attention on him at his weakest moment. Something must’ve shown in his face; Meian started barking quiet commands to the rest of the teams from where he sat crouched on his heels in front of Atsumu. Most of the team dispersed to make themselves busy while Bokuto and Meian stayed close. 

When Atsumu finally got his breathing under control minutes later, his entire body felt like his insides had been scraped out with an ice cream scoop. He hollowly dreaded the trek back to his apartment after practice; he knew it would be the last return to an apartment with someone waiting there for him. 

Bokuto was patiently rubbing circles in his back, waiting for Atsumu to resurface fully from where he’d gone. A distant part of Atsumu was glad Bokuto was the one there with him; he knew that his wing spiker fell victim to his own mind, too. Atsumu knew he could expect understanding and compassion from Bokuto, never pity. 

“Tsum-Tsum, are you alright? Do you need our help?” he asked, hand not ceasing in its rhythmic motion. Atsumu shook his head, coughing into his shoulder to clear the frog in his throat. 

“No, Bokkun, it’s okay. I’m probably gonna head home though,” said Atsumu, his voice barely more than a croak. He looked up to meet Meian and Coach Foster’s gazes, barely able to stand the warmth he found there. “I’m probably gonna need a few days off, Coach.” 

Foster’s face creased with a gentle smile, the crow’s feet by his eyes crinkling. “Take all the time you need, kid. We’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.” 

Bokuto hauled Atsumu to his feet and Inunaki handed him his gym bag, packed neatly with all his things. The gesture was almost enough to finally tip Atsumu over the edge but Bokuto was already pushing him out of the gym. Before Atsumu would turn to leave, Bokuto caught his shoulders. 

“Atsumu, I don’t know what’s going on,” he began, his words cautious, “But I’m here for you, whatever it is. Even if it’s illegal! I’ll testify for you in court!” 

A laugh was startled from Atsumu at Bokuto’s earnest, simple honesty. “It’s nothin’ like that, Bokuto, promise. But thanks.” 

Meian’s voice could be heard yelling for Bokuto to come back to practice from the gym. “I’m gonna call you every day of your break, Tsumu-Tsumu, so you’d better leave your ringer on!” Bokuto promised, reluctantly jogging back. 

Atsumu was left alone to brave the journey back to his apartment alone. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

Evening found Atsumu and Natsu spread out on the couch in his living room watching the evening news. Shouyou sat on the floor with his head resting against Atsumu’s knee where it hung over the side of the sofa. The light of the television made the shimmering edges of Shouyou’s form glow with a brilliant inner light. Atsumu kept one eye on the quicksilver and the other on the broadcast of the arrest of the chief of the Osaka Metro police and his son, Abe Jirou. 

Daichi and his friends had worked surreptitiously, under the noses of the people responsible for the coverup of Shouyou’s murder, until they had collected definitive proof of Jirou’s guilt. Atsumu and Natsu weren’t clear on the exact details, as Daichi had his own problems, what with the incredible amount of rule-bending (and breaking) he’d done to solve Shouyou’s case. Atsumu couldn’t find it within himself to care, honestly; all that mattered was the image of Jirou being led in cuffs out of his family’s extravagant Osaka home.

One detail Daichi had been able to offer is that Shouyou’s death came about as a result of an ultimatum the Chief gave his son when he’d become aware of his relationship with Shouyou. Either Jirou got rid of any person who could damage his family’s reputation, or be cut off from the fortune. Wrath burned dully in the bottom of Atsumu’s gut as he watched the slime be pushed into a police cruiser. It was only the prickling sensation of Shouyou’s head against his leg that kept Atsumu from sinking into a blind rage. 

The three watched vacantly as the news coverage transitioned from a discussion on the corruption in Osaka’s police force to a story on a car crash downtown earlier that evening. No one wanted to break the silence; to acknowledge what came next. 

Natsu was the first to confront the inevitable. “Shouyou…” she started, “How are you feeling?” 

Shouyou didn’t answer for a long while. Atsumu crooked his head to watch his face and was unsurprised to see the unusual brightness in his brown eyes. Eventually, he just shrugged.

“I don’t know. I should be angry, right?” he asked. Atsumu nodded fervently. “I’m not, though. I’m not even really surprised it was him.” Shouyou’s eyes wandered towards the balcony doors. “I guess I just feel relieved. And sad.” 

Natsu furtively wiped at her eyes from her seat next to Atsumu’s head and reached out to Shouyou. He grabbed her hand, laughing softly when she quietly shrieked at the sensation. 

“Shouyou, you know what this means, right?” she asked, her voice barely louder than the hum of the television in the background. He smiled sadly and reached out to tug on one of the stray curls escaping her braid. 

“I do,” Shouyou said. His usual laughing eyes were sober. “Natsu, thank you. It was never your job to protect me; I should’ve been the one to protect you.” 

Natsu shook her head wildly. “It wasn’t your fault, Shou. If it hadn’t been for that greedy bastard…” Shouyou frowned and tugged harder at her hair. 

“Natsu, it’s over now. He got what he deserved, and I got justice,” Shouyou said slowly, firmly. “I’m not mad, and I don’t want you to be, either.” 

Atsumu sat up and threw an arm around Natsu as she began to cry in earnest. “You’re better than I am, Shouyou. I don’t think I can do that.” 

Shouyou’s face went stern. “If you stay mad for the rest of your life because of Jirou, I’m telling on you to Mom.” Natsu gasped, laughing through her sobs. 

“You would not.” 

“Oh, yeah? Wanna find out?” 

He was rewarded with a wobbly smile before his little sister threw herself into his arms. Luckily, he was fully corporeal or Natsu would’ve gone straight through him to the floor. She buried her face in his neck and held on with all the strength in her body. 

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” she choked out. “Tell mom I said ‘hi,’ okay?” Shouyou nodded and squeezed her back. He let her go when she pulled back and stood up. 

“I’m gonna give you and Atsumu-san a few minutes, okay?” Shouyou and Atsumu exchanged a chagrined look at the knowing smirk on her face as she slipped into her coat and out the front door. 

Shouyou turned to face Atsumu, who was looking everywhere but at him. Atsumu’s pointed study of the ding in the metal of the balcony’s door frame was interrupted by the sensation of Shouyou’s hands in his, his head coming to rest against Atsumu’s chest. 

Atsumu sighed and rested his cheek against the top of Shouyou’s head. The sensation of his curls against Atsumu’s nose was odd, but not unpleasant. He took the time to savor everything about the man in his arms; the weight of his head, the width of his shoulders, the way he fit perfectly into the notches of Atsumu’s own body. 

“Tsumu,” Shouyou started. His voice was muffled in the fabric of Atsumu’s pull-over. “I’ve got to go, soon.” Atsumu tugged him impossibly closer even as he felt the slow slip of Shouyou’s form into intangibility. “I need you to promise me something, though.” 

“Anything, Shou. Y’know that.” 

Shouyou reached up to cup one of Atsumu’s cheeks in his hand, thumb brushing away a stray tear as best it could in this form. “I need you to promise you won’t suffer alone when I’m gone. I’ll never be happy where I’m going if a part of me knows you’re suffering.”

Atsumu snorted and held Shouyou’s hand to his cheek. “Are you tryin’ to guilt me, Shouyou?” Shouyou just shrugged, his grin impish. 

“If that’s what’ll work, I sure am.” 

Atsumu smiled fondly and reached out to cup Shouyou’s head in his hand. He could just see his own fingers through the orange curls; he knew they were fast running out of time. 

“Alright then, Shou, I promise. Anythin’ to make your eternity more comfortable,” he joked, not joking at all. It scared him, the things he would’ve done for this man. 

Shouyou just dragged Atsumu’s face close and urgently pressed their lips together, hard. Atsumu’s hands on his back started to feel as if they were clutching a gust of air. 

“I love you. I love you,” Atsumu gasped against him, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. When he got no response, he opened them, blinking hard against the film of tears.

He stood alone in his apartment, shivering. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Atsumu was roused from a restless, nightmare-plagued sleep by urgent knocking at his front door. He ignored it and attempted to slip back into the half-state he’d been woken from. When he heard the sound of a lock jingling in his door he sat up, suddenly alert. The person entering his apartment jimmied the lock in just the right way to get the stubborn door to open; only two other people knew the trick to that door, and he doubted his landlady was breaking in at-

Atsumu rolled over to squint at the alarm clock next to his bed. The LED light mocked him as it proclaimed it to be five-forty in the morning. Yeah, it could only be one person annoying enough to be inviting themselves in at this hour. 

Osamu burst through his bedroom door, flipping on the overhead lights as he let himself into Atsumu’s bedroom. He walked over to Atsumu’s bed and yanked back the comforter. The twins fought to unwrap Atsumu from the wrap he’d made of himself with the flat sheet, Atsumu clawing and scrabbling at his brother as he battled to remain under the covers. 

“Geddup _,_ ya giant oaf,” Osamu grunted as Atsumu flung a foot into his stomach. He growled in frustration and dragged the cocoon his brother had become onto the floor with a thump _,_ laughing unkindly at the way Atsumu’s breath left his chest with a _whoof_ on impact. Osamu watched Atsumu fight to free himself on the floor, the younger twin looming above his brother. Atsumu was panting by the time he’d freed his limbs. 

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, brother-dearest, ‘cept I really, really am,” Atsumu grit through his teeth, “But why the fuck are you here and what the fuck are you doing.” 

Osamu was going from window to window, opening blinds and cracking each window open to air out the staleness of the room. “I’m here ‘cuz Ma and Dad have been letting you wallow, and now your time’s up.” 

Atsumu watched as Osamu began to strip the remaining sheets from his bed and throw them in a ball in the corner with the rest of his week-old dirty laundry. He yelped when Osamu ripped the sheets he still lay on out from under him, only to be dragged to his feet from Osamu’s hands under his armpits. 

“Take a long, hot shower, you filthy pig, and meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” Osamu commanded, pushing Atsumu towards the bathroom none too gently. When Atsumu was inside the bathroom, blinking owlishly in his rumpled pajamas, Osamu threw a towel and a change of clean clothes at him. 

“Make sure you scrub the important parts good, ‘Tsumu,” his twin simpered sarcastically, before slamming the door shut. Atsumu could faintly hear the sounds of Osamu fetching new linens for the bed and the creak of the mattress springs where he must’ve knelt on it to fight with the fitted sheet. 

Thirty minutes and one scalding shower later, Atsumu was sat at the table across from Osamu as his brother dished out onigiri from the bag he’d brought from his shop. The shower had done wonders for the grimy feel of sweat that had clung to Atsumu in his neglect, but the dark purple bags under his eyes remained, as did the downward twist of his mouth. 

Osamu handed him a chipped cup of tea from his cabinet and Atsumu wrapped his cold fingers around the porcelain. The warmth grounded him, and the light smell of peppermint awakened an appetite that had laid dormant the past miserable week. He dug eagerly into the tuna onigiri Osamu placed in front of him, special-made. 

He’d polished off three onigiri in no time before he began to slow, his stomach catching up to his eyes. Osamu handed him a glass of water, sitting back to watch his twin drink it as if it was the first glass of water he’d had in a week. Knowing Atsumu, it probably was. 

“You never really answered my question before, ‘Samu,” Atsumu asked when he’d drained his cup and began picking idly at the last rice ball on his plate. His brother stood to refill the glass at the tap and only answered when Atsumu drained it. 

“Natsu told me to come and check on you; she hadn’t heard from you since...y’know.” 

Atsumu narrowed his eyes at his twin. “How the hell did you get in touch with her?”

“She texted me first. Messaged me on Facebook and explained the situation.” Atsumu was positively surrounded by meddling busy-bodies. Osamu continued; 

“Y’know, you scared the hell out of Ma and Gran with this stunt of yours.” Atsumu’s head snapped to his brother’s, retort ready on the tip of his tongue, but Osamu plowed ahead. “She called me in a panic when you stopped answerin’ your phone; she practically had a cow when she called your coach and he told her you’d suddenly taken the week off.” 

Atsumu ducked his head, properly chastened. He knew how crazy his retreat from the world had probably seemed, but he hadn’t been able to help it. The sudden high from Shouyou’s killer being caught followed by the low of the ghost’s release from the land of the living had sent Atsumu into a shock unlike any he’d ever felt before. He doubted he’d be able to explain to Osamu the maelstrom that had taken up residence in Atsumu’s psyche the past week even if he had all the words in the world at his disposal. 

“‘Samu, if you talked to Nacchan, you already know why I can’t handle Ma right now,” he said eventually, avoiding his brother’s gaze. Osamu nodded sagely. 

“‘Course I do. That’s why I’m here to make sure you get back on your feet and she’s not.” 

Atsumu couldn’t respond to that; not because he didn’t want to give his brother the satisfaction of Atsumu needing him, but because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to answer Osamu through the vice around his throat. But luckily, Osamu didn’t need a response. 

Osamu hauled himself to his feet before dragging Atsumu up after him and plopping him down on the couch with a blanket and the remote. “Put somethin’ brainless on. I think auntie’s favorite program is on during this block.” 

Atsumu watched the television blankly as Osamu dug around under his kitchen sink for the bin of cleaning supplies and got to work. The canned background noise of the sitcom was enough to keep his mind from straying too far from the present. Osamu’s bustle and the sound of him talking to himself under his breath was like a blanket; before he knew it, Atsumu had slipped into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

When he woke a few hours later, the mid-afternoon sun was burning a square on his cheek from where it shined through the glass of the balcony doors. Atsumu sat up and rubbed at his eyes, trying to locate Atsumu within his apartment. He heard him at the front door, another male voice accompanying him, its tone deep and gruff. 

Atsumu heaved himself to his feet to investigate only to stop dead in his tracks at the image of his brother and Mr. Saito talking in his apartment’s genkan. He looked back and forth between the two, bewildered, until Saito’s _hmmph_ of laughter interrupted him. 

“Ya look like shit, boy,” grunted the old man, his unimpressed gaze raking Atsumu’s pajama-clad form. Atsumu was offended on behalf of his tatty old Inarizaki practice shirt, threadbare and bleach-stained. He turned to his brother, questioning. 

“Saito-san came to check in on you, ‘Tsumu. Because, for whatever reason, he cares ‘bout you,” Osamu said, a smirk plastered across his features. He was only happy because Saito had a new victim to torture. 

“The apartment was suspiciously quiet; I figured somethin’ must’ve happened to shut you up,'' Saito gruffed. Atsumu tried not to think too hard about what happened the last time Mr. Saito had checked in on a suddenly-quiet young neighbor. 

“S’alright, Saito-san. Shouyou…” Atsumu started, unsure of how to explain everything that had happened in the past few weeks. He settled on, “Shou’s alright now; we don’t have to be worried ‘bout him anymore.” 

Mr. Saito nodded slowly and the line of his mouth went tight. “I can’t say I know much about whatever you did to accomplish that, Miya-kun. But I know a lot about losing the one you love.” The old man turned to Osamu and nodded shallowly before turning to leave. Before he went, his eyes met Atsumu’s and he said, “Come over whenever it gets too lonely in here, kid. Make sure you bring something to eat with ya, though.” 

The twins watched him go in stunned silence. Osamu turned to Atsumu, bewilderment clear across his features. “That was almost...nice.” 

Atsumu nodded. “Freaky, right?” 

“What the fuck.” 

❂ • ✧ • ❂

Osamu stayed with Atsumu for another three days. When Atsumu had questioned him as to who the hell was running his restaurant, his twin waved him off, saying Yuuto had it handled. 

His brother had never struck Atsumu as the nurturing type, but Osamu surprised him during his stay. He made filling, hearty dishes at every meal and made sure his brother ate and drank water. He dragged Atsumu out of the house on the days when the weather was mild, taking him for short walks around the neighborhood. Osamu even helped Atsumu draft a game-plan for explaining his week-long hiatus to his team. 

Atsumu didn’t think he really wanted to tell the Jackals the wholly tragic story of him and Shouyou; not only was it private, but it sounded insane. Osamu argued that they had probably long come to expect the unexpected from Atsumu. What was a ghost story to them? 

They’d finally decided on a bare-bones explanation that would satisfy his teammates and not push Atsumu too hard either. Osamu left to return to Kobe, satisfied with the promise he’d extracted from his twin to actually tell his teammates what had happened and to not chicken out. He’d even gone so far as to make Atsumu call Coach Foster with Osamu sitting next to him. He had learned the art of how to be overbearing perfectly from their mother. 

Atsumu stood in front of the doors to the Jackal’s practice center the next day, unmoving. It felt ridiculous to be as nervous as he was; no matter what, these were his teammates. And as Osamu had said, it was pretty damn obvious they cared about him. Atsumu just hadn’t wanted to see it, because acknowledging it would’ve been too close to getting his hopes up. 

He heard Bokuto come up behind him before he saw him. His older teammate had started running when he saw Atsumu gathering the courage to enter the gym, the slap of his sneaker’s rubber soles against the floor like cannons. 

“TSUM-TSUM!” Bokuto yelled, wrapping Atsumu in his arms and lifting him off his feet. “You’re back! Coach and Meian-san said you would be, but I didn’t believe them.” He let Atsumu back onto the ground and wrapped a beefy arm around his shoulders. “You didn’t answer any of my calls!” 

Atsumu rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, Bokkun. I can explain, though.” But Bokuto shook his head resolutely. 

“You don’t need to explain anything, Atsumu, not if you’re not ready,” he promised, guiding Atsumu over to where the rest of the first string was standing, adjusting their gear and chatting. 

“Actually, I do, Bokuto. I owe it to you guys for putting up with me. Plus, I promised ‘Samu,” Atsumu said, his voice catching his teammates' attention. 

Meian smiled softly at the pair and his sharp features softened. “You don’t owe us anything, Atsumu. But we do want to be here for you.” 

Atsumu met the open expressions of each of his teammates; his friends. Bokuto was a solid presence at his side. Barnes and Tomas watched him patiently; Inunaki’s face held no judgment. Foster winked at him from where he stood at Meian’s shoulder. 

Atsumu drew a deep breath and began to speak. 

  
  


❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


Winter had faded to spring like a watercolor painting. Osaka was never particularly bitterly cold, but the warmth in the air and the scent of new growth in the breeze was refreshing nonetheless after the dark winter Atsumu had just come through. 

He sat at the small table in his kitchen, serving his mother, Aunt, and Gran tea from the repaired teapot Shouyou had shattered months before. His father had paid for an artist to repair the broken pieces in gold, and he’d sent the finished product to Atsumu with a small pot of gold paint and a brush. On the bottom of the teapot, Atsumu had carefully painted the kanji for Shouyou’s name. 

His Gran accepted her tea with a gentle smile while his Aunt dumped a few spoonfuls of sugar into her own cup. The women in his family had come up to visit for the day; ostensibly, it was to see the cherry blossoms in full-bloom at Nishinomaru Garden. Atsumu knew they’d really come to check on him. 

Not that it was really necessary. Atsumu thought that he had been doing better since Shouyou’s murder had been solved. Sure, the ache in his empty chest still kept him up at odd hours, waiting in vain for Shouyou’s witching-hour wake-up call. Yeah, he still walked into his apartment with another’s name on his lips, his voice dying in his throat before he could call out to someone who wasn’t there. But Abe Jirou and his father were both behind bars, and the Hinata family was given a public apology by the police for the role they’d played in obstructing justice. 

Atsumu had been honoring his final promise to Shouyou, too. He leaned on Osamu, his team, and even Natsu when things got too heavy to carry on his own. He forced himself to ask for help whenever he felt he needed it, no matter how much it burned. He even made strides towards getting along better with some of his other teammates with Bokuto’s infectious personality serving as the help Osamu would’ve provided, had he been there. 

Things weren’t perfect, though, and he knew his family could tell. His grandmother put a gnarled, wrinkled old hand over Atsumu’s own and asked, “How are you holdin’ up, m’love?” 

Atsumu couldn’t have stopped the water from welling in his eyes even if he’d tried to. He shrugged and felt his aunt place a comforting, warm hand on his back. “Alright, I guess. Been better.” 

His grandmother hummed sympathetically, drumming her ringed fingers across the cheap wood of the table. “Y’know, Atsumu dear,” she began slowly, “I know what you’re feelin’ right now. I’ve felt it myself.” She laughed at his skeptically raised brows. “S’true, sweetheart. After all, I went through with your granddad what you’ve been through with that boy of yours.” 

Atsumu sat at attention; his eyes swept his aunt and mother for signs of confusion, but the women just somberly nodded. “W-What?” 

His gran sighed and sat back on her heels. “When your grandfather died, I was pregnant with your aunt Aiko. It was only when I was just ‘bout ready to pop when I realized he had never actually left.” She smiled a secret smile to herself. “He’d stayed until she was almost a year old. By then, he was a shade of his former self; he was barely the man he was when he’d first appeared to me.” 

Atsumu struggled past the dryness of his mouth. “What did you do?” 

“I told him, you’ve gotta let go. It would’ve hurt us more to see him degrade like that than it would to know he was at peace somewhere we couldn’t follow.” 

Atsumu raised his face to the ceiling, desperately trying to blink back the tears carving streams down his face, but to no avail. “It hurts so bad, Gran. It won’t stop hurting,” he choked out in a whisper. 

“No,” she agreed. “It’ll never stop hurtin’ you. But you’ll learn to live with the hurt; it’s better than livin’ with the guilt of damning Shouyou to a hell.” 

The three women watched, quiet and tender, as Atsumu cried his hurt out. When he’d finally collected himself ages later, his mother patted his cheek and stood. 

“Now,” she said and clapped her hands, “What do you say we get something to eat?” 

❂ • ✧ • ❂

  
  


_Two years later_

  
  


“Atsumu!” Natsu’s voice could’ve rattled the doves from the eaves. “Is this box fragile?” 

Atsumu poked his head around the doorway to his bedroom. Natsu was holding a cardboard box labeled ‘dinnerware’ with an arrow that was meant to be pointing up but was now facing the floor. “Uh...yes?” 

He watched as Natsu only held it marginally more securely as she carried it out of the apartment and down to Osamu’s pickup waiting outside. He returned to where he was haphazardly folding the sheets he’d slept on the night before, stuffing them into another box. 

When he had finished in the bedroom, he walked out into the rest of the apartment to survey what had been accomplished. Osamu and Bokuto were carefully wrapping his television set in bubble wrap and Natsu had returned to grab another box. There were only a few left in the living room and the kitchen and bathroom had finally been cleared. Atsumu expected his apartment would be empty before dinner. 

Atsumu brought the last of the boxes from the living room down with Natsu while his twin and Bokuto argued over the best way to bring the television and gaming systems down to the truck. He escaped down the stairs to avoid hearing whatever idiotic plan they came up with together. 

By five in the afternoon, his apartment sat barren and still, a shadow of the life that had been lived in it lingering in the furniture scuffs on the floor and the holes in the walls from where framed pictures had hung. Atsumu and his moving crew stood there and admired the view. They were proud of their work, but the sight of the empty apartment was bittersweet. The shoddy old place held a full picture album’s worth of memories, memories both joyous and miserable. 

Atsumu had learned to live in this apartment; he’d also learned what it meant to really suffer a loss. He would miss the narrow rooms and wide windows and what they meant to him. He’d even miss the cold spot by the balcony. 

Osamu was the one to break the reverent silence. “Well, that’s that! Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve got a lot of road to cover to Tokyo.” He gave Atsumu a searching look. “You wanna say your goodbyes?” 

Atsumu shrugged. “Maybe. Either way, I’ve gotta get my spare key from Saito-san. You guys head down without me, I’ll be right there.” 

He watched as his friends and family filed out the door and down the stairs into the warm late-spring afternoon outside. Atsumu turned back to the empty living room with a sad little smile. 

“See ya, Shou,” he said quietly to the modest little apartment. 

As he turned to leave, he could’ve sworn he saw the balcony’s curtains wave in the draft-less room from the corner of his eyes. 

The smell of a man’s citrus body wash lingered in the air long after he’d left. 

  
  


❂

✧

❂

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I learned a lot while writing this fic about housing in Japan as well as about Osaka itself. Still, I'm not Japanese nor have I ever lived in Japan; if any readers who are infinitely more knowledgeable than I notice any glaring mistakes, please let me know!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! <3 Come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/erioel_)


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